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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29664723">Spoils of War</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/canyouseemyspark/pseuds/canyouseemyspark'>canyouseemyspark</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Coming of Age, Dreams and Nightmares, Family Dynamics, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Politics, Siblings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:08:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>35,494</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29664723</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/canyouseemyspark/pseuds/canyouseemyspark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"i was happier then. or was that i? or am i now i? can’t bring back time. like holding water in your hand. would you go back to then? just beginning then. would you?"</i>
</p><p> </p><p>The Rebellion ends, and not with Rhaegar's rubies scattered in the Trident. </p><p>An AU where Rhaegar comes to his sense soon enough (or not quite too late) and a view of the dangers facing Westeros, looking northwards.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Edmure Tully/Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia), Jon Snow &amp; Daenerys Targaryen, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen (past), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Robb Stark/Daenerys Targaryen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>157</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>125</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Ned - Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ned had no choice.</p><p>The almost-rebellion was crushed, not with Rhaegar's iron first but by his decision to move against his father, to set aside the Mad King and to rule himself alongside a Great Council. It was a compromise carefully negotiated, tenuous at first, but proved difficult to resist for the lords of Westeros -- peace and more power, the ability to constrain the actions of the ruling king as never before, in exchange for the maintenance of the Targaryen dynasty.</p><p>It meant the kingdom would not be torn into pieces. </p><p>And the lords began their eternal game, circling King's Landing like dogs, negotiating concessions, marriage contracts, reductions in taxes and levies.</p><p>Ned thought he would be going to war. To bid farewell to his new wife, unsure if he would ever see her again, to avenge his father and Brandon, to find Lyanna. He had prepared for it, made his peace with it in front of his gods in Riverrun. To see Lyanna at the prince's side, her belly swollen, vowing to the council that she had <em>chosen</em> to leave, that was not something he could not have prepared for.</p><p>In his dark, unkind, selfish moments, he thought battle and death or exile would have been a mercy to this peace. It may have helped him to forget. He could have gone to the Free Cities with Cat and Robb, started a new life for himself there. Perhaps then he could forget the way Lyanna had clutched at his arm when they were alone, screaming from grief for Brandon and their father.</p><p>It was a dark day when he left her in King's Landing, to walk in those same hallways where Brandon had been dragged, enraged, to sit in the room where he choked, where their father burned. For months or years, until when? Until the new king tired of her? He felt as though he gave up a part of himself that day, and knew his sister had lost more than just a part.</p><p>The spaces inside his soul he thought were ruined forever were wrenched open once again with the arrival of raven and a letter, marked with the dragon seal.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Daenerys I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning: Sexual references, but no explicit descriptions.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Daenerys had grown accustomed to being left behind.</p><p>Her mother perhaps had been the only one who had not left by choice. It was difficult for Daenerys to grieve over someone she had never known save the stories of others, but as a child she felt that loss nonetheless. Though over the years she had grown out of this habit, in her childhood she often lay in bed, imagining what her life may have been like were her mother still alive. She could not distinguish whether they were Viserys’ fantasies or hers, but in these day dreams she imagined herself in King’s Landing, making her way to the room where she knew her mother would be waiting. In those day dreams she imagined herself to be more beautiful, older, more certain; and most of all more cared for. She had perfected these images in her mind, to the way her hair was styled, the way the sun shone, the faces of the courtiers, but she always stopped at her mother’s door. It was enough to be there, standing in front of it; her imagination was not vast enough to imagine who lay beyond, her mother’s form and face, the timbre of her voice.</p><p>When she was a child, her trips to King’s Landing from Dragonstone had been more frequent. She remembered how it looked from the ship, the tapestries in the hall, the sight of her brother Rhaegar sitting on the Iron Throne surrounded by dragon skulls. But she does not see the rooms her mother had once kept, occupied now by Queen Elia. She had been too small, too timid, and too afraid.</p><p>Her father had left too. But of him, Daenerys thought little.</p><p>In the days when the Great Council was first called, there were some who called for his execution. Daenerys did not know who; Viserys had been the one to tell her these tales. An act like that would have damned Rhaegar as a kinslayer, even if he were not the man to swing the sword nor issue the sentence. They reached some compromise, traded something for her father’s life, something Viserys did not know and stripped him of his titles instead, sent him to Dragonstone where Viserys and Daenerys lived. If her father ever held her or even laid eyes on her, Daenerys did not know.</p><p>He lived in the Sea Dragon Tower’s cells, under guard by Ser Oswell Whent and a small army of knights housed in the bottom, underground floors. The apartments of Daenerys and Viserys were further up, and Daenerys saw them so infrequently, it was easy to forget them. Only Ser Oswell dined with them occasionally, but he was a strange man and unpleasant. The walls of Dragonstone were warm, though, and the deeper down into the castle one went, the hotter it grew. She wondered how her they could withstand it. Dragonstone was made from the stones of hell, some said, so perhaps it was an apt prison.</p><p>Besides, Viserys had frightened her with enough stories that she did not feel the urge to go to searching. Their father had done terrible things, Viserys explained, he had hurt many people and worse of all, he was the reason their family was divided now, why they could not live in King’s Landing. That had been another <em>compromise</em>, that word which defined the beginning of Rhaegar’s rule. The size of the royal household was reduced and her and Viserys were sent away.</p><p>There were other reductions Daenerys’ maester had taught her but none of them touched her as this one had. Reductions in the king’s ability to suspend or create laws without approval from the Council, consisting of representatives of each of the Great Houses. Reductions in the king’s ability to levy new taxes and fines. Reductions in his right to impose punishments against noblemen save through a trial, presided over by jurors of the council. Reductions, which they called reforms.</p><p>Rhaegar had been another. When she was a child, his visits to Dragonstone were so frequent that Daenerys, only a small child then, had asked Viserys if Rhaegar was their father. Viserys had corrected her but she remembered with embarrassment now times when Rhaegar would watch her play and in her excitement at his presence, in the middle of a sentence she would call him <em>father</em>. He always corrected, as Viserys had.</p><p>Despite that, Daenerys could not say that her childhood was unhappy. Though it may not have been as lively as life in court, they did not want for anything – neither material comforts, nor amusement. There were few noble ladies of her age from Blackwater Bay, but the Lord of Highgarden had sent two of his cousins to serve her as ladies-in-waiting and bedmates, Elinor and Alla. He had sent companies for Viserys too, his own son Garlan and several knights from the Reach, including Denys Redwyne, and Bryan Fossaway. Ser Oswell had been the one to train and knight them all. Some had come to call Dragonstone Highgarden-on-Blackwater by virtue of the presence of so many guests from the Reach, perhaps unkindly.</p><p>It was enough to occupy her. During the day, after their lessons, Elinor, Alla, and she would chase Viserys and the older boys around the island, begging them to let them join their fun, exploring the caves beneath the mountain, watching the smallfolk that lived in the villages on the shores take their boats out to fish. Daenerys liked speaking to them; they had lived on Dragonstone for generations, and it pleased her to think that their ancestors may have spoken to hers once, a hundred years ago. Viserys said if she kept it up, she would smell like fish too.</p><p>Most of their time was spent there, in the shadow of the Dragonmont. As pale grey steam rose from the mountain behind them, they would explore the paths those before them had forged in the ground. It was there that Viserys and Denys Redwyne invented a new game for them to play; they would gather items from their walks, rocks or pulled weeds or sometimes a wayward shell, and stand at the foot of the mountain, blocking their path down. They would pull the items from his pocket, one by one, and for each object he would charge a price and demand payment before they would allow the girls down the mountain; the price, of course, would be paid in kisses. A rock may be five kisses. A shell was two. Viserys would not permit Daenerys to play, however, and she would wait for them at the bottom of the path. Other times, Daenerys would not be allowed to join at all and Viserys and the other men would explore the mountain alone, come back with stories of secret paths and tunnels they had found.</p><p>As they grew older, no more kissing games were played. Daenerys thinks it is when Elinor flowers, the first of them, and after that it is as though a veil is pulled between them and the rest of the household. There are no more adventures</p><p>When she was alone with Elinor and Alla, however, she could do as she wished. To please Septa Lyra, an old woman who had first come to Dragonstone before Rhaenys’ birth,  Daenerys would play the lute, or less proficiently the woodharp, and they would sing to one another, particularly in the days when it was too wet or too cold to be outside. Other times, they would spend hours writing stories and days afterwards painting miniatures to accompany them. As children, they preferred stories of faraway places across the Narrow Sea, they drew strange men and creatures, imagined what the flowers there might look like, what one might encounter on a walk. When they grew older, dashing princes made their way into the stories, and fearsome monsters and dangerous outlaws. They frightened each other with stories of a ghost of an old man who walked the halls of Dragonstone at night when the moon was high, insisting to one another that they had seen him.</p><p>When Daenerys flowered at thirteen, visitors began to arrive, keeping the castle busy and humming.</p><p>Lord Mace Tyrell was the first to arrive, bringing with him gifts and his heir, Ser Willas. Though he was twelve years older than her, he was courteous, filling the stilted silences in their conversation with stories of his sister and their life in Highgarden. He had promised he would come back, but then his sister Margaery was betrothed to Prince Aegon, and she never saw Ser Willas again. They had secured a much bigger prize.</p><p>After that comes a retinue from Dorne. Prince Quentyn Martell arrives with Ser Cletus Yronwood and several Dornish knights. They spend a month on Dragonstone, hawking and taking pleasure cruises when the weather was fair, and she continued to exchange letters with the prince after his departure, even though in the end it was Viserys’ and Princess Arianne whose marriage would be arranged.</p><p>Her suitors were replaced instead by visits from the grim Lord Jon Arryn. He brought nothing with him and asked questions of her and Viserys instead; of their education, the lessons they were learning, and worst of all watch them as they spoke to the servants, or to one another. He visited Ser Oswell as well, Daenerys had seen them emerge from the tower together. Jon Arryn’s visit had perturbed Viserys so much that from then on, whenever they received word he was coming, they would prepare as though for battle, taking more care with how they dressed – elegant but not ostentatious – the food that was served, the rooms he was given. Viserys was paranoid, suspecting some plot, and while Daenerys knew her brother well enough not to believe in his suspicions, she noticed too how Lord Arryn seemed to be searching for something <em>in </em>them. And so she measured her words carefully in his presence, erred on the side of silence when she was uncertain though it likely made her seem shy and sullen.</p><p>After a while, even Jon Arryn did not return. That was a summer of many losses. Daenerys was seventeen and suddenly without friends. Elinor was finally to be married to Alyn Ambrose, and left with her cousin to prepare for her wedding. Daenerys had gone so far as to write to Rhaegar to ask if she might join them, a rare favor asked and quickly declined. The knights who had been Viserys’ friends left as well, back to their own homes, to claim brides or inheritances. The castle seemed to empty of everything Daenerys had known and loved, and fill suddenly with servants unfamiliar to her, who prepared the apartments in the Stone Drum, unused since Rhaegar was prince. Day to day, more ships arrived, filled with new furnishings, fine cloths, Dornish wines and silks. And Daenerys understood, even before the arrival of the letter from King’s Landing, that Aegon would be marrying his Tyrell bride soon and take his place as Prince of Dragonstone.</p><p>Though her day dreams comforted her as a child, Daenerys was too much a woman now to imagine she would stay at Dragonstone forever. When she had seen Aegon last, he was a quiet boy of eight and though she remembered him to be gentle and courteous, Dragonstone was his birthright and his alone. She would leave too, one day, as everyone else had, though she could not imagine where to, and the only person left here from her past would be her father, somewhere in the bowels of Sea Dragon Tower.</p><p>However, there was another who would leave her first.</p><p>Viserys has her meet him on the shore in the morning, early enough that she can see the fishermen’s boats dotting the horizon. Some women stand on the far side, wrapped in woolen blankets, some quietely singing songs to entice the fish to find the nets. </p><p>She takes a moment to look at him before he becomes aware of her arrival. He stands looking at the sea, his short hair tied back loosely and a memory comes to her unbidden, of their childhood when they slept together in the nursery and Viserys would sometimes brush her hair for her, as though she were his doll. When he came of age, he increasingly spent less time on the island in favor of other amusements on the mainland. He travelled to King’s Landing, on occasion, and had been to Dorne several times to visit his betrothed. He never forgot to bring her back a little trinket or a story about things he had seen or done, but Daenerys felt the gap growing between them nonetheless. Now, she could see him as he was, a man at twenty-seven who would live most of his life beyond this island, who would have a life she would from now on only ever be a small part of.  </p><p>He turned around, smiling.</p><p>“How are you this morning?” She asked.</p><p>“Well.” His eyes were tired, unaccustomed as he was to waking this early. “Come along, it will be a long walk.”</p><p>They walked side by side along the dockside streets. It was early still, and there were no children out to wave to them as usual, nor women selling their goods. It felt like the island was theirs, and theirs alone. Still, her brother did not speak until they were out in the open again, walking down the small path that ran beyond the streets and wound itself instead against the water. If they followed it for a few miles, it would lead them Dragonstone’s southern port or they could break off from it, as they had done in their youth, and up to the stony wildness of the mountain itself. Viserys took the second path.</p><p>He looked at her as though measuring her before finally speaking. “I am leaving soon. You know this, do you not?”</p><p>Daenerys had not been told but she knew it nonetheless.</p><p>“Yes. You will be going to Sunspear, and for good this time.”</p><p>Her brother nodded. “Yes. I do not know if I should ever be back. It is not a short journey and after the wedding we are to tour Dorne, so that the people may come to know me. And after that, well…”</p><p>“You will be busy with children and with ruling,” Daenerys finished the sentence for him.</p><p>“Perhaps.”</p><p>The paths here were unmarked, and their pace slowed as they ascended, wary of the rocks they were treading.</p><p>“What is she like, Princess Arianne?”</p><p>Daenerys had asked her brother that question before, but in the presence of other men he would only respond with some vulgarity about her shape and form and earn their laughter in return. Here, alone, perhaps he would say more.</p><p>“She is beautiful,” He paused, “She is clever, I suppose, and beloved in Dorne.”</p><p>Beautiful. Clever. And beloved. Her brother could think of little more to say.</p><p>“Are you frightened?”</p><p>Viserys laughed at that, “Frightened of what?”</p><p>The fog grew thicker here but Daenerys recalled that in 20 or 30 feet it would thin out once again, and they would be able to see the peak of Dragonmont, impossibly high</p><p>“Of marriage. What if she does not love you? You have no friends in Dorne. What if she mistreats you, or favors another?”</p><p>These were the fears Elinor had shared with her, before she departed for her wedding.</p><p>Viserys shrugged, not understanding. “It would not matter, I suppose.”</p><p>She supposed it would not, not for men. Rhaegar had a mistress after all, and if that had displeased Queen Elia and if she had treated him poorly for it, Rhaegar did not seem much disturbed. They lived together as husband and wife.</p><p>“I hope you like one another regardless. Life would be easier for you I think, should you both be loving,” Daenerys decided.</p><p>Viserys raised an eyebrow at that. “Dany, you ought to grow up, and soon. Sometimes you speak as though you were still ten, your head in a storybook.”</p><p>“What would you have me say to you instead on the eve of your marriage?” She asked.</p><p>“That you hope we have many sons, that she will always be faithful and obedient.”</p><p>“That you will not throttle each other?” Dany added.</p><p>Viserys grinned, “Precisely.”</p><p>They walked a bit longer. Rather than trekking up to the clearing they were accustomed to visiting, Viserys was leading her to a path unknown to her, the one which led to the shafts where she had not been permitted to follow. The air felt strange her, smokier and damper, and the path grew so narrow they could no longer walk side by side. The ground beneath them was steep, and Daenerys imagined that if she were to fall, she would slide all the way down to the sea.</p><p>“King’s Landing is to your right,” Viserys explained, pointing at the horizon. “All of it is our land. Ours still.”</p><p>Somewhere across the sea, Rhaegar sat in the Iron Throne, listening to petitioners perhaps or giving counsel.</p><p>They rounded the corner and began to descend towards the shafts.</p><p>“These caves are filled with dragonglass,” Viserys explained, “Rhaegar had much of it mined on the north side of isle, but the mountain is bursting with it. Most of it is in blocks deep inside, but some of it has been worn down and split into smaller pieces. Watch where you step, it is sharp enough to go through your boot.”</p><p>Every man and child on the island knew of the shiny, slick glass. Daenerys had been taught that there were four dragonglass candles from Valyria in the Citadel still, and that acolytes of the Citadel would stand vigil over them in darkness unless they were able to light them.</p><p>“What else did you find here, when you would come with the others?”</p><p>“Little else. The shafts on the bottom are too hot to enter. But if you look inside, it leads to the heart of the mountain. Do you want to see?”</p><p>He was already heading down, and Daenerys scrambled to follow. Nothing here resembled a path, and at times they had to hold hands to steady each other as they descended so as not to slide on the rocks. The mountain was louder here, and Daenerys could hear sounds coming from within that, along with the sea, sounded like a massive being, gasping for breath.</p><p>Viserys found his footing first, and helped Daenerys up. The ground under her feet was warm here and a light emerged from the nearest shaft, like the flicker of a thousand flames from somewhere deep inside.</p><p>“You may look inside,” Viserys explained, “But only for a moment. The caverns are deep. Garlan and I would throw stones down here, but we never heard them hit any bottom.”</p><p>How they could hear anything down here, Daenerys did not know. As she stood in front of the cavern, she heard nothing except for that sound of that gasping. Viserys shouted over it, “Do not step inside, the ground is too hot.”</p><p>At first, Daenerys could see nothing, only the light. It felt as though she was standing in front of a massive oven, wrapped up in the warm air. It took only a moment for her eyes to adjust and she could see the smooth, black walls of the cave, the shiny pebbles that lined the floors and deep within, a mile or two or a hundred, a flame.</p><p>There was something else too, among the blackness. For a moment, she thought she saw two molten eyes.</p><p>Viserys’ voice broke the spell. “Come on.”</p><p>He led them up again, and it felt harder now to move away than it had to be clamber down, to get closer. Daenerys tried not to look behind her, but when they finally found the path again, she could not help it. There was nothing, only rocks and the sea.</p><p>Viserys was quiet, too, as they walked but he looked at her every once and while from the corner of his eye.</p><p>“I have news,” He said, when the path widened enough that they could walk side by side once again. “But I do not know how you will take it.”</p><p>“Is that why you brought me here?”</p><p>“Yes,” He admitted. “You begged me often when you were young and I sent you away often, sometimes cruelly. I suppose it was pricking my conscience.” He smiled wickedly at the admission. “But most of all, I wished to speak to you away from the eyes and ears of the servants. And to cheer you. I am not in the mood for tears or fits.”</p><p>They stopped now, facing the sea.</p><p>“Rhaegar will write to you soon. He will ask you to travel to Riverrun, to aid Rhaenys when she gives birth to her child.” He spoke haltingly. This hesitation was uncharacteristic of her brother. “He spoke to me of it in his last letter.”</p><p>That was not all.</p><p>“What else?” Daenerys asked. “I am not to come back, is that so?” Viserys was easy to read at times.</p><p>“Yes.” He admitted, “Rhaegar wrote to me only so that I might ensure certain matters are prepared.”</p><p> “What sorts of matters?”</p><p>“Your dowry, for one.” Viserys frowned, suddenly defensive, “You are seventeen, do not look like at me like a wounded doe.”</p><p><em>Marriage.</em> Daenerys braced herself for the fear, or panic. Or anything. She felt stunned, and felt ashamed for it. Viserys was right, she was seventeen. Her mother had only been thirteen when she wed. She could not stay on Dragonstone forever. Rhaenys had been married for a year. Aegon was preparing to wed Margaery Tyrell. Viserys’ princess bride awaited him in Dorne.  Daenerys squirrelled her misgivings away in the back of her mind where she could tend to them later.</p><p>“To who?” She asked.</p><p>“The nephew of Rhaegar’s whore. The heir to Winterfell. He will be there, at Riverrun. You will travel together.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>She did not know what to say. “What shall I do? Shall I write to him?”</p><p>Viserys frowned, “Why would you do such a thing?”</p><p>“Because…” Viserys was losing his patience already. “So that, we might know each other.”</p><p>“What is there for you two to discuss? Perchance he does not know how to read.” He snorted. “You should expect nothing more than a savage. I heard they keep wild wolves as pets and feed their enemies to them in the winters. And they put that whore in Rhaegar’s bed. I do not suppose that leaves them much time for noble pursuits.”</p><p>Daenerys’ had heard all of this before. That Lyanna Stark was a witch, that if she were ever to meet her she should not drink or eat anything from her hands. Elinor and Alla had loved to make up such tales. Once they said she bathed in the blood of maidens to stay young, but Daenerys told them that was Shiera Seastar.</p><p>“Is this what Rhaegar would have you tell me?” Daenerys asked.</p><p>“No, I am telling you what Rhaegar cannot say. Your life will not be as it is here. I have been too lenient with you. I have indulged you.” He pointed to the horizon again and he spoke more quickly now, his voice hoarse. “Everyone will be watching you. There are those still who think Rhaegar should not be king, that we are not fit to rule. Never mind the fact that Westeros was little more than a hovel fought over by barbarians before we arrived. You must be perfect, do you understand? You must trust no one, and give them no cause to doubt us. We may be forced to mingle our blood with that of lesser men but ours is the kingsblood, the golden blood of old Valyria. Do you understand?”</p><p>“Yes,” She replied. She hated whenever Viserys was in one of his paranoid moods, seeing assassins in every corner, and found it best to end the conversation quickly. But then she thought of Jon Arryn, and his looks and wondered what the old man hoped to find.</p><p>Her brother stood quietly, calming himself. When he began to speak again, that terrible look was gone from his eyes.</p><p>“Hear this, you must be like a holy creature to your husband. They must be made to remember, all of them, that we are not made of the same stock. That it is our place to rule and theirs to kneel. You must make them grateful to be permitted to even gaze upon you.”</p><p>Daenerys would have laughed at that, had Viserys not looked so grim. She knew what was expected of her in a marriage bed, but no one had told her she would be expected to make her husband <em>grateful</em>.</p><p>“Thank you,” Daenerys said instead. “I will heed your advice.”</p><p>“Do not frown so, sister,” Viserys said, “Smile. This is your last day of childhood.”</p><p>--</p><p>Two weeks later, Viserys was gone and Daenerys received a letter from Rhaegar in his place. He ordered her presence at Riverrun and wrote to her a little of Robb Stark. Rhaegar had seen him two years past on a visit to the North and wrote he was of age with her, courteous, and well-mannered. He wrote to Robb Stark was fast friends with his bastard son Jon and that her nephew would be meeting her at the harbor of Maidenpool and escorting her for the remainder of her journey so she might learn of her intended.</p><p>It struck Daenerys as little more than strange. Rhaegar had never spoken to her of his bastard, and she had never met him. Even his name was strange to her. <em>Jon. </em>She remembered there was a story behind that too, that Rhaegar had wanted to give him a Targaryen name and had been overruled by his mistress. It made her think of Lord Arryn and his wrinkled skin and shaking hands. Where her brother’s bastard son lived or what company he kept, Daenerys knew little.</p><p>She did not trouble herself much with it, in the days and weeks after Viserys’ departure when she started preparing for her own. She did not even think of Viserys much, and though she missed his company she was glad he was not here to tell her more terrifying tales of the future which awaited her. And she tried not to think of her future husband. Her septa had little to say beyond instructions for the marriage bed – men were driven by different needs, her husband may come to her as often as he wishes and she must never refuse him, but that she must remain ladylike, not give herself over too wantonly.</p><p>Daenerys thought instead of the thing she thought she had seen living within the mountain. That felt within reach, a mystery she could solve, something solid to put her hands on. Daenerys did not know why it preoccupied her so, only that since she saw it she had been troubled.</p><p>She slept fitfully. And on that last night, when all was prepared and she was to leave it for good on the morn, she dreamt. She was alone on Dragonstone and the only light came from somewhere deep in the ground. She was a young child, and though she walked barefoot and her feet stained the ground with blood, she could not stop. She stumbled, falling, her body ungainly, but still she pushed on to the cave where Viserys had taken her. The fire raged within it still but when Daenerys looked inside, there was nothing but a glass candle burning. She turned away, doubted herself, and looked back over the shoulder where a dragon stood, watching her still.</p><p>Daenerys woke shaking.</p><p>After weeks of sleepless nights, it was almost a relief, then, to leave. When her boat pulls out of the port and they sail towards the horizon, Daenerys, finally, does not look back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A few notes - </p><p>•	I intended to have this chapter be much longer to cover Daenerys and Jon's first meeting but I spent more time than I thought writing and rewriting it and I would like to commit to weekly updates.<br/>•	I have aged up all of the characters. Also I know the fandom speculation is that Jon is named Jon for Jon Arryn, and I decided to leave it at that because it's so distinctive from the rest of his Targaryen family and signals another world of relationships and family. I also thought narratively it would just be smoother.<br/>•	One of the things which drew me to Daenerys as a character when I first read GoT was how she could see through certain characters' motives when Viserys could not (such as Illyrio, for example). And yet, although she is extremely perceptive, there are many stories about her own family which she does not reflect upon. I know that's partially a writing device so she has to reckon with all of these things later on. I wanted to recreate that dynamic here, where things aren't necessarily lining up but she also just doesn't have the information to piece it together.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Daenerys II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The royal party travels to Riverrun.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Her nephew awaited her in Maidenpool.</p><p>The journey from Dragonstone was swift, carrying both Daenerys and her dowry to the Riverlands in half a day. She sailed on one of the smaller longships of the royal fleet, flanked by four larger ones which Lord Monford Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Master of the Ships. The Velaryons and Targaryens were kin, so it had been a comfort to sail with him, and he had brought with him servants from Driftmark and his wife, their Velaryon cousin Laenora, to serve her for the journey.</p><p>They carried with them a fortune. Her ship was to land briefly in Maidenpool for her to disembark while the others waited at sea, after which Lord Velaryon was to sail out to join them and all five boats would journey to White Harbor, and then the knights would travel on horseback to Winterfell. Each boat carried within it part of her dowry. To the Starks, she would give her jewels, pearls, fabrics, and a payment of two hundred thousand golden dragons, half of which would be provided in a single payment by her brother, Rhaegar, and the other half paid by her nephew Aegon, in his authority as Prince of Dragonstone and future king, in twelve yearly installments. The terms would be announced publicly at her wedding in Winterfell, and Viserys had insisted she learn them so she may always remember her worth, and her rights.</p><p>As her dower, the Starks promised to secure her maintenance in Winterfell - including her clothes, her rooms, her ladies-in-waiting and her servants - as well as a single payment of forty thousand golden dragons. Additionally, the Crown would be given an additional tenth of the custom taxes paid to Winterfell from trade in White Harbor.</p><p>The King and Lord Stark had haggled over her like fishwives. The King's income from White Harbor would be in perpetuity, even if Daenerys were to die without producing a male heir. In that case, the Starks would be permitted to retain fifty thousand golden dragons from her dowry and return the rest to crown. If Robb Stark were to die first without producing a male heir, the Starks were obliged to offer to arrange a marriage between Daenerys and the next heir to Winterfell, if he were still unwed; the King retained the right to approve or refuse such a match. If the next heir was already wed, or the King declined the match, the Starks were obliged to continue to pay Daenerys’ maintenance for an additional year and would retain only forty thousand golden dragons from her dowry. In either case, Daenerys’ jewels would be returned to her and any presents given to her by her husband, notwithstanding any heirlooms of House Stark.</p><p>Daenerys was glad at least to know she worth more alive than dead.</p><p>It was a cold, wet day, and her honor guard looked grim standing at a distance, with wilting Targaryen banners. There were at least forty knights, led by Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Barristan Selmy, the Lord Commander. Her heart leapt at the sight of Rhaegar at the lead, crowned and richly dressed,</p><p>A white beast walked among them, an animal larger than any dog she has ever seen close to the size of a newborn foal, and yet no one seemed to notice or react to its presence; it was a terror unseen, pacing as though it had been kept waiting too long. A man’s voice cut through her fear. He stood further back, out of sight at first, but stepped out from the rear and called out, “Ghost, to me.” The beast obeyed.</p><p>When she reached her brother, Daenerys knelt in front of him.</p><p>“I thank you humbly, Your Grace, for honoring me so. I pray I have not kept you waiting for long.” She turned to look at each of the Kingsguard knights, who bowed in turn. “Sers, I am most grateful to have you both as travel companions.”</p><p>“It is our honor, Princess,” Ser Barristan responded.</p><p>Rhaegar smiled, slightly. Her brother had aged since she last saw him. There were wrinkles, where there were none before, around the edges of his eyes and he seemed thinner.</p><p>“Rise, sister, and let me embrace you.”</p><p>She obeyed, took his hand, and let her brother wrap his arms around her. It was is a rare thing for her, to be held so; Viserys was who she ran to as a child, with her smiles and tears, but as they grew older he told her it was unseemly to hang over him the way she did, that they were being watched, always watched, and that had been the end of it. Rhaegar was here now, but he would soon be gone, and she wondered when she would be held so again.</p><p>He pulled away, and placed a hand on her cheek. “You have grown into a beauty, Daenerys. It will bring your betrothed pleasure to look upon you.”</p><p>“It pleases me to look upon yours, brother. I had not thought to find you here.”</p><p>“I had not thought to be here. But there are some matters I must settle,” He replied. “The road is long before us. We will ride hard to make camp by nightfall.”</p><p>She hesitated. “I am not a very able rider,” Daenerys admitted. The trails on Dragonstone were well-worn and the longest of them was no more than a four-hour ride; she had thought she would be travelling by wheelhouse now.</p><p>“You will learn. There is not much opportunity for it on Dragonstone, I know, but the North is more than a third of my kingdom. When you are Lady of Winterfell, you will have need to travel often by horse.” Her brother put his hand on her shoulder. “Come, I have a present for you which I hope will carry you safely on many journeys.”</p><p>Rhaegar turned around and with a gesture of his hand, his knights part, clearing a path for them to walk through. They bowed as Rhaegar and Daenerys walked between them and their successive motions were so graceful, it was something like skipping rocks on the still surface of a lake. Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan followed behind.</p><p>At the end, the man in black and his white beast awaited them.</p><p>He was young, she saw him better now, tall and slender, clean-shaven with short dark hair and black eyes. Daenerys could not decide if he was handsome or not, but she thought he might be, if only he would smile.</p><p>Rhaegar stopped them in front of him. To her surprise, her brother reached out and briefly placed his hand on the white animal’s head as though in greeting. The creature did not react. Then, he too a step towards the man.</p><p>“This is my son,” Rhaegar simply said.</p><p>It was said that bastards were born out of lust, lies, and weakness. Rhaegar was not weak nor was he a liar and his son may have been born of lust, but all men had such desires. <em>Besides</em>, Daenerys reminded herself, <em>bastards could be heroes too</em>. Orys Baratheon was baseborn half brother to Aegon the Conqueror and he slew the last Storm King, and another bastard, Ser Addison Hill was Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. But there were also the truly wicked, who were born to betrayal. Daenerys thought of Daemon Blackfyre and Bittersteel.</p><p>Jon did not bow, did not so much as incline his head. He looked directly into her eyes and as he looked at her, his beast did too, and its eyes were red. Daenerys thought suddenly of Brynden Rivers. Is that the sort of bastard her brother had made?</p><p>“I have longed to meet you, nephew,” Daenerys said instead. Though she did not wish to get nearer to his animal, she walked closer and greeted him as she would Rhaenys, with a kiss on each cheek.</p><p>Jon stiffened, and when she pulled back he looked at his feet.</p><p>“Thank you,” was all he said. It was only with these two words that Daenerys saw Rhaegar in him; they had the same cadence in their voice, low-pitched and steady.</p><p>Daenerys thought of the tale of the frog, transformed by a kiss into a prince. But Jon was no prince.</p><p>His beast pushed his snout against her hand, as though to greet her in turn, and Daenerys could not help but flinch.</p><p>“He won’t hurt you,” Jon said, “Ghost has never hurt anyone.”</p><p>“Ghost is a direwolf,” Rhaegar explained. He looked at the animal carefully. “In the books of old it is said that they once roamed the North, hunted by men but not afraid of them. No living man south of The Wall has laid eyes on one in over two hundred years. Until Jon.”</p><p>“It was not I who found them. It was my cousin Robb. He saw them first,” Jon said, quietly.</p><p>Daenerys frowned in disbelief. “There is more than one?”</p><p>“There are six.”</p><p><em>The blood of the dragon must not be afraid.</em> She could not bring herself to touch it not, yet, but she would no longer show her fear. </p><p>“They must have been destined for you, somehow,” Daenerys said instead.</p><p>Jon exchanged a look with his father and suddenly Daenerys felt she had wandered into and old argument, and was a knife’s edge away from reopening old wounds.</p><p>Rhaegar cut through the tension with a sigh and a word. “Come.”</p><p>It was a short walk to the stables. There were king’s men everywhere, squires and servants, kneeling and bowing as they pass. The stables were filled to the brim with saddled horses and the stench was so thick in the air Daenerys feared she would never be rid of the stink of it in her nostrils.</p><p>They stopped at the eighth stall where a gray gelding awaited. His mane and tail were pure white, as was his saddle. A stableboy opened the gate separating them, and Daenerys touched the horse’s neck, hesitantly, and ran her fingers through his mane.</p><p>“He’s beautiful,” She murmured, turning to look at Rhaegar.</p><p>He smiled, “He is a gift, from me and the queen. We had thought a sand steed at first, but Elia worried over its fate in the Northern winters. But, what he lacks for in speed, he makes up for in temperament and endurance. Come, let us ride.”</p><p>--</p><p>They rode.</p><p>The first few days had not come easy. Queen Elia had sent two of her own maids as Daenerys’ companions who would rub the aches from the muscles of her legs and back, and make a poultice for the chafing between her legs, but it was Jon who often rode beside her. He spoke little, but would at times advise her to correct her posture in the saddle, or the way she pulled at the reins.</p><p>He said little else.</p><p>When they were not on horseback, he kept only the company of his direwolf.</p><p>They did not sleep in the halls of the lords of the Riverlands, but made camp in a different place each night near the villages on the banks of the river. Daenerys had heard it said that when Rhaegar was still only a prince, he often slept in the ruins of Summerhall, under the stars. The banks of the Trident may not have held the same place in his heart, but at night when Daenerys looked out from her tent, she could sometimes see her brother under the moonlight, standing at the water with Ser Arthur at his side.</p><p>On some days, they held audience among the smallfolk. Fishermen, shopkeepers, tailors, smiths, and hedge knights – they all come to her brother, with requests and grievances, asking for resolutions to disputes over animal grazing rights, delayed shipments of grain, unjust taxes places on them by their lords.</p><p>They had never been in the presence of a king before. Rhaegar would invite her to sit beside him, in this court he held under redwood trees or the crowded hall of some inn, and she would watch as the petitioners approached him, some curious, others frightened, barely looking up and speaking at the ground. To Daenerys, Rhaegar always seemed like a king but never more so than when he wore his crown, a thick circlet of gold set with seven blood-red rubies. He listened to them all, no matter how minor their complaints, and treated them with all with princely courtesy.</p><p>“I hoped once to have Aegon squire for one of my knights and travel through my kingdom, like our great grandfather once did, so he may come to understand the lives of the peasants and what work must be done for them,” Rhaegar explained to her after their first audience. “But I can only teach him to listen and give them justice, as best he can.”</p><p>Whatever education Rhaegar reserved for his other son, it did not include this. Jon would disappear with his wolf, returning only when the petitioners were gone.</p><p>Daenerys could have lived her life like that; travelling through Westeros with her brother and his men, being of service, learning to love the freedom of laying her head in a new place every night, of walking beneath the stars. But it was not the life she was born to. After three weeks of travel, they passed the Inn of the Kneeling Man.</p><p>It was then that the spell was broken.</p><p>Daenerys had tried her best to keep the peace. There were things she wanted to ask of Rhaegar but she did not, for fear that she might upset some balance, that she would pull out some piece of whatever held them together and they would be forever transformed.</p><p>Suddenly, Winterfell felt very close, and the memory of what it had felt to be at home grew smaller, small enough that each time she tried to search for it inside herself it was more difficult to find.</p><p>It was in the last week of their journey that at last they were all alone together. Jon and Dany broke their fast with Rhaegar beside the Red Fork, watched over by his Kingsguard protectors and Jon’s wolf, who settled at his feet and looked at the water with those strange, red eyes.</p><p>They ate lightly, hot bread, strawberry preserves and bacon and soft-boiled eggs. Her nephew arrived late and scowling, and Daenerys realized suddenly this was the first time she had sat at the same table as his; there were times Daenerys knew he took his meals in private with Rhaegar, but whenever they were in front of others, Jon often sat at a distance, among the knights.</p><p>When they were finished, their plates taken away, Daenerys finally spoke.“Our journey is nearly at its end, and I thought perhaps now we may speak of your family and of the North.” Daenerys added, “So that I may learn how to be a good wife to your cousin Robb.”</p><p><em>Robb</em>. Was that the first time she had said her name? Daenerys could not recall. Ned Stark had named him Robb for love of Robert Baratheon.</p><p>Rhaegar watched the water now, as Ghost did, as though the conversation did not concern them.</p><p>Jon was the one who looked at her. “What do you wish to know?”</p><p>“What is he like? What are his interests?” She asked.</p><p>“We often go hawking and hunting.”</p><p>Daenerys remained silent, waiting for him to continue, but he did not say more.</p><p>She tried again. “And what of his father, Lord Stark?”</p><p>“What are his interests?”</p><p>“No, what is he like?”</p><p>Jon paused. “He is a fair and just lord.”</p><p>Daenerys would not let him irritate her. <em>It is no matter, soon enough I will meet them and make my own judgements.</em></p><p>She tried another strategy instead.</p><p>“Thank you for your instruction on my horse riding. You’re a very able rider.”</p><p>Jon studied Daenerys for half a beat. “Hullen, the master of horse at Winterfell, was my teacher. He can teach you how to ride in the snow. You do not have a good grip on your horse yet, and you allow him to lead you. Hullen can teach you how to listen to your horse’s breathing so you know when he is too cold in the winter, and to ride with a lighter saddle.”   </p><p>“I’ve named him Rain.” Rhaegar had given her the idea. It was the name of one of King Aegon V’s horses when he was a squire, given to him by the Lady of Coldmoat.</p><p>The corner of Jon’s mouth moved into something that resembled the start of a smile. Rhaegar glanced over at his son, who seemed to note his gaze and rendered his face neutral once again.</p><p>“You do not like the name?” Daenerys asked, not understanding.</p><p>“Robb’s wolf is Grey Wind.”</p><p><em>Oh</em>. Rain and Grey Wind. “I suppose his wolf has grey fur?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“We both lack creative inspiration, it seems,” Daenerys smiled.</p><p>A thousand questions raced to her mind, and yet each one threatened to too closely approach some truth that was best left unspoken.</p><p>Daenerys followed her brother’s lead, and watched the river instead. It was a half hour, following the water as it sprung over the brown rocks, pebbles whisked up in it, before anyone stayed again.</p><p>“Ser Barristan, will you escort Jon back to camp?” Rhaegar said, finally.</p><p>“I do not require an escort.” Her nephew was on his feet quickly, as though relieved to be excused, his wolf following behind as he left. With a signal from Rhaegar’s hand, Ser Barristan remained at his post.</p><p>Daenerys was weary. She was weary of always feeling like she was at the precipice of something she did not understand. She was weary of her nephew, and talking to him or trying to. For all that Viserys was, or is, he did not turn inwards on himself so; whether he was angry or pleased, he would put it into words and action. Rhaegar was less knowable but that was the way of kings. She wished, unkindly, that her husband would not be the same sort of man as Jon.</p><p>Rhaegar, however, did not seem disturbed. He had a serving girl fetch him dates and a pot of mint tea, and pour them each a cup.  </p><p>“Jon is to join the Night’s Watch.” His gaze was fixed now on a date in his hands, and the careful work of removing the pit. “It will complicate things for you.”</p><p> <em>The Night’s Watch</em>. Daenerys pitied her nephew and though she knew him little still, she had learned enough of him to know that he would hate her for that pity.</p><p>“I did not know. He did not say.”</p><p>Rhaegar shifted in his seat, turning further away so his body faced the water and Daenerys could see only the side of his face. “His uncle Benjen is First Ranger and our great-uncle Aemon is there still, as maester. He will not be without family. It is a place where a man might serve with honor.”</p><p>She thought of Aemon. He might have been king, but he loved and feared for his brother so that he took the black. Was this why Jon would do this now? For love?</p><p>Or had Rhaegar ordered it? Daenerys could not imagine her brother being so cruel. And yet… If some harm were to befall Aegon before he had sons of his own, and Jon were not tied at penalty of death to his vows to live and die at the Wall, what would Jon do? <em>What would Viserys do?</em></p><p>“He will tell his uncle and his mother in his own time. I have asked him only to wait until you are wed, but there are few secrets among kin and they may learn of it sooner,” Rhaegar explained. He had never spoken of Jon’s mother in Daenerys’ presence before.  “I advise you now, stamp out any inclination to involve yourself in his matters. Fix yourself on your marriage and your duty. I do not think it will be spoken of in your presence.. And yet, I feel you must understand nonetheless.”</p><p>“Understand what?”</p><p>“That I erred.” He turned to her now, finally, and Daenerys could see how every word pained him. “And that you are the blood price which will settle my debts.”</p><p>Daenerys frowned. She wished… she wished…. And she wondered. When her husband saw her, would he see the sister of the prince who dishonored his aunt, and sent her son to the freezing abyss? Or the daughter of the king who had murdered his grandfather and his uncle?</p><p>That night, she dreamt of a Godswood, of a man standing under a weirwood tree with his back to her. When she touched her shoulder, he turned around, and his eyes glowed red. </p><p>-</p><p>They were pelted by rain for the rest of their journey. It was a bad omen, Daenerys decided, that her journey would begin and end with miserable weather. Their party had been in high spirits, looking forward to the warmth and comfort of castle walls, but now they rode each day in silence, wet, and miserable, the rain nipping at their eyes.</p><p>Daenerys did not dare complain; Rhaegar was single-minded, his intentions set on no longer delaying their arrival, and Jon’s mood had further soured and he rode more often at the rear, out of sight.</p><p>It cleared, at least, on the final day.</p><p>Her maids took greater care to prepare her that morning. She wore one of her mother’s tiaras, a golden circlet with a large oval-shaped diamond in the center enclosed by diamond festoons, and a gown of black. Daenerys understood now why her brother had eschewed a wheelbarrow, and it was not only a matter of speed. Atop her horse, riding sidesaddle in her finery, she truly looked like a Targaryen princess, like one of the portraits in Dragonstone brought to life. Rhaegar had taken care to match her in black, and today wore the ornate crown of Aenys I and Jaehaerys I, of yellow gold inlaid with jade and pearl.</p><p>The Tully banners lined the road to Riverrun. It was beautiful; not so large as Dragonstone perhaps but light where Dragonstone was night, green where Dragonstone was only gray. It made her heart glad, to know Rhaenys lived in a place like this; fertile and lush. Guardsmen wearing fish-crest helms bowed as they rode in, and the heavy redwood doors were flung open before them.</p><p>Daenerys did not allow herself a glance across the courtyard; she focused single-mindedly on steering her horse to the Tully grooms which stood waiting to take the reins. Rhaegar dismounted easily and as he assisted her, Jon rode into the yard with his wolf.</p><p>It was Lord Edmure Tully who stepped forward first, auburn-haired and bearded, wearing a flowing blue-and-red cloak.</p><p>“My King, your grace” He said, bowing, “Riverrun is yours.”</p><p>When he rose, Rhaegar placed a hand on his shoulder. “Pray tell me, how is my daughter?”</p><p>Edmure smiled, and it was as though he smiled with his whole face, joy playing at the corners of his lips and eyes, “Maester Vyman says her confinement has gone well, as do the midwives Queen Elia sent. She is eager to see you all and has spoken of little else.”</p><p><em>He loves her</em>, Daenerys thought, <em>or something close to it. </em>Rhaenys was the easiest to love out of all of them, though, how could he not?</p><p>“I will go to her once our greetings are concluded. Come, Daenerys.”</p><p>It was Lord Stark next, clad in gray and black, and looking so very much like Jon. His greeting is not as effusive or glad, but he <em>your graced</em> and bowed all the same.</p><p>Lady Catelyn was warmer, beautiful with long auburn hair, and Daenerys remembered that she had been a stranger to the North too when she was a young bride. Just as quickly, she recalled that Lady Catelyn had been betrothed to Ned Stark’s dead brother. Daenerys was grateful to the gods, not for the first nor last time, that when asked, Viserys had insisted she did not much resemble their father in appearance.</p><p>Finally, she stood in front of Robb. He was clean-shaven and handsome, shorter than his uncle but broad-shouldered and straight-backed, with auburn curls and bright blue eyes. He did not shy away from her gaze, nor blush, but when he spoke, it seemed harder for him to meet her eyes.</p><p>“My princess, I am pleased to meet you at last.”</p><p>The words sounded rehearsed, but Daenerys could not blame him for that. “As am I. I have looked forward eagerly to this day.”  </p><p>The Starks had not brought all of their children with them, only Robb and their two daughters. It was his sister Sansa who seemed most delighted to meet her, a pretty girl who beamed as she curtsied, and told Daenerys how much she had prayed to the gods for another sister. The little one, Arya, was not as effusive but seemed restless, eager to explore the excitement in the yard heralded in by their arrival.</p><p>It was Jon, however, whose arrival was transformative. He shook hands with Ned Stark, embraced Robb, and Arya practically jumped into his arms. Daenerys did not know what it was about that that pricked at her, but she felt she had to turn away. When she looked at Rhaegar, she saw he had done the same.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>•	Thank you for reading!<br/>•	This chapter was painful to write. I really struggle with getting characters from point A to point B and I don't feel great about it but I am so relieved to finally post it.<br/>I learned a lot about dowries from the following <a href="https://www.brown.edu/Departments/Portuguese_Brazilian_Studies/ejph/html/issue9/html/arodrigues_main.html">link</a>. GRRM does not really get into the weeds of it but in ASOIAF where marriages among nobility are first and foremost economic and political arrangements, I had fun getting into it.<br/>•	Next up, we will see Rhaenys and have some more time with the Starks.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Daenerys III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Something like a courtship, and a different sort of battle.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning: Mentions of childbirth.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Daenerys saw Rhaenys, beautiful, pregnant, and happy, she began to understand Viserys’ words, how a woman could be like some sacred thing.</p><p>Daenerys herself had worshipped her niece when they were children, the little that she saw her. Rhaenys was quick-witted and mischievous, running around the Red Keep with her little black cat in tow, filling the halls with her giggles. Rhaenys and Viserys had been thick as thieves then, and though Viserys was older it was he that more often than not obeyed his niece’s commands to play this-or-that game, or to sneak to the kitchens for baked apples. Every part of the Keep was a part of Rhaenys’ little realm. Together, Viserys had told her that they explored the White Sword Tower and when they were caught by Ser Barristan, he had smiled and thrown Rhaenys into the air until she was hilarious with laughter. They had wreaked havoc in the godswood, thrown bread from the windows of the Kitchen Keep to the pigs in the yard, and played among the dragon skulls in the Great Hall.</p><p>And then there were places only Rhaenys went. It was her, and only her, who was permitted to seek out her father in the council chamber, even when Rhaegar and the lords were in session, or in his private library. The bond between father and daughter surpassed all others.</p><p>Neither time not distance had strained it. When they were taken up to her rooms, Rhaegar sat at Rhaenys’ beside and held her hands for the better half of the day, asking after her health, her marriage, speaking to her Queen Elia and Aegon and all that happened since she left. Even Jon had come with them to see her and though he stayed but briefly, he gave her a beautiful, illustrated book of Princess Nymeria’s adventures for her child which he said he discovered in Oldtown.</p><p>That night, Daenerys displaced Rhaenys’ Blackwood bedmaid and went to bed beside her cousin in her large, canopied bed.</p><p>Rhaenys’ lay on her back, her black curls spread out on the pillow behind her. She had been telling Daenerys how she fared, the months of illness that had been followed with swollen ankles and an aching back, and finally the joy that came with feeling her child move and grow within her. </p><p>“The best thing of all,” Rhaenys said, “is that no one dares say to refuse me any whim or desire.”</p><p>“Did Lord Edmure often refuse you before you were pregnant?”</p><p>Rhaenys smiled. “No, not often.”</p><p>He seemed the type to dote on his wife. When he had escorted them to see Rhaenys, Daenerys had seen how he had looked at her, the way he took her hand in his and lifted it to his mouth for a kiss.</p><p>Her niece turned to face her now, and they looked at each other with identical violet eyes.</p><p>“How was my brother on the journey?’ She asked, her voice lowered.</p><p>Daenerys hesitated. Hearing Rhaenys referring to Jon as her brother surprised her somehow. “He was courteous with me, and helped me at times with my horse when he did not have to. But he preferred his own company to mine, and that of his wolf.”</p><p>“Were you courteous with him?”</p><p> “I was. Has he said otherwise?”</p><p>“No, you were in the room when I greeted him, he said nothing,” Rhaenys shook her head. “I do find it queer that he is here.”</p><p>Daenerys rolled to her back to better hide her face.</p><p>“I did not know he was in Oldtown,” Daenerys said instead.</p><p>“For a few months,” Rhaenys explained. “He wrote to me of it. He thought he might become a maester. But he is here now, so I suppose he decided otherwise.” She paused. “He was in Dorne before that.”</p><p>Daenerys could not help but sit up at that.</p><p>“Dorne? What was there for him in Dorne?”</p><p>“He was in Starfall for half a year. He trained with Ser Arthur to see if he might wish to join the Kingsguard. You did not know?” Rhaenys asked. “I think in the end, he did not wish to be anointed in a sept nor make his knighthood vows to the Seven.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>The thought of that made Daenerys sad somehow. If he was not born on the wrong side of the blanket, he may have ruled a holdfast of his own one day, or served on Aegon’s councils when he became king. Instead, he was left to seek out his own way in the world, and would spend all of his days alone. She was relieved at least to know now that the Night’s Watch was not the freezing fate Rhaegar had forced on his son. It was a choice Jon made himself, out of several.</p><p>Would it pain Rhaenys when she learned of it? Daenerys could see that she suspected it, and that she searched now for confirmation. Would she weep for him, when Jon finally said his goodbyes? Or would she be pleased to know that Aegon’s future was more secure, even though it meant her other brother had none?</p><p>She would visit him, she vowed, if Rhaegar or Rhaenys asked it of her. She did not know how he would welcome her, if it would even matter to him, but least he could not say they had abandoned him.</p><p>Daenerys had her own troubles to think of now.</p><p>“How have you fared with the Starks?” Daenerys asked. “Have you had much chance to speak with them?”</p><p>Rhaenys sighed. Jon was still on her mind, it was clear enough. “Catelyn Stark has always been gracious and brought with her lavish gifts for the babe. The girls are sweet and curious, not unlike I was at that age. They have a million and one questions of the capital and Aegon and the Kingsguard. I do not suspect that I sated them, so you have that to look forward to.” Rhaenys smiled. “I spoke to Lord Stark and your intended only once. Edmure thinks highly of them both.”</p><p>“Would he speak badly of them to you, if he thought ill of them?” Daenerys countered.</p><p>“No,” Rhaenys admitted, “But I would sense it. He is not a good liar.”</p><p>Daenerys stared up at the ceiling. Edmure Tully’s word did not mean much to her.</p><p>“At least he is young. And handsome. It is better than some old widower with a cold bed.” Rhaenys offered, and Daenerys found it a feeble attempt. “And rotting teeth. And cold feet.”</p><p>Daenerys had to smile.</p><p>“It is easy to make a husband love you, when he is young,” Rhaenys continued, as hthough repeating some comfort an older woman had given her on the eve of her own wedding.</p><p>“You sound like Viserys. He said I must make him grateful.”</p><p>It was Rhaenys’ turn to smile. “Viserys knows little and less of what goes on in a marriage. It is love that a bride should pray for, not gratitude, but worship. You most of all, Dany.”</p><p>“Do you think I am I need of love?” Daenerys teased.</p><p>“Who is not in need of love? Though I speak of the deeds of my grandfather now, and my father. Deeds best not spoken of night,” Rhaenys replied. “Come, I will give you a piece of courage for tomorrow. It is not good to start a marriage with fear and timidness.”</p><p>Slowly, Rhaenys sat up, throwing her legs over the side of the bed, took the candle from her bedside table and made her way across the room to her side chambers. She was gone for only a moment, returning with a bundle in her hands.</p><p>When she was back in bed, she unfurled it and within it lay the most beautiful things Daenerys had ever seen.</p><p>It was a huge egg, so large that it took both of her hands to lift it. <em>It is a stone</em>, she thought, <em>a precious shell covered in jewels or enamel</em>. When she looked at it closer, she could see it was covered with tiny scales which shimmered even in the dull candlelight. The egg was pale cream, streaked with silver.</p><p>“What is it?” Daenerys asked, her voice hushed and full of wonder.</p><p>Rhaenys gave her a quizzical look. “A dragon’s egg.”</p><p>“It’s beautiful.”</p><p>“My father gave them to us when he was crowned. We promised not to speak of it but I thought…” Rhaenys stopped herself. “It is only a stone now. But I feel braver when I am near it. Here,” Rhaenys took the egg from Daenerys’ hands, and placed it on the pillow between their heads. “Let us sleep, and when we wake we will speak only of good things.”</p><p>--</p><p>Daenerys was invited to break her fast with the Starks in Riverrun’s great hall.</p><p>She had slept as she had not in months. It was a dreamless sleep, though she woke once before dawn, imagining that the egg had so warmed the pillow beneath her that it she sweating through her nightclothes. She had not had much investigate it; she fell asleep instantly, as though drugged. And when she awoke, she found the truth in Rhaenys’ words – she felt stronger somehow.</p><p>The most beautiful of her gowns were somewhere in the North, perhaps in Winterfell already, save for the one which she would wear the day of her arrival. The rest were meant for girl, finely made and trimmed with lace but demure. Daenerys chose from the best of them, a gown of purple damask.</p><p>Though there would be no feasting so long as Rhaengs was in confinement, many of Edmure’s bannermen had arrived in the hope of seeking some council or favor from the king, and they rose as she entered, no more than one hundred in addition to the household and the men the Starks had brought with them.</p><p>Edmure sat in the high seat of the Tullys at the head of the table, with Jon at his side as befitting good brothers. Ser Barristan sat to his left, not as a watchful guard but an honored guest, dressed not in his Kingsguard armor but in a fine tunic and breeches of white. After him sat Lady Catelyn, along with her daughters and Robb. A seat had been left for her between Robb and Jon.</p><p>Lord Stark and Rhaegar were not present in the hall, though the wolves were. Ghost and another were underneath the table, as though hoping to pick up scraps, while the other two sat lazily by the door to the lord’s chambers behind them, licking at the paws. They looked up at her with curious eyes but Daenerys found that she was not afraid. There was things in this world far more wondrous than direwolves.</p><p>She was relieved that Rhaegar was not there and the guilt over that relief pricked at her; she had known nothing of these eggs, and neither had Viserys. Or perhaps he knew <em>of</em> them, and never told her, though that was not his way. He certainly did not have one of his own; Daenerys had climbed into his bed too many times as a frightened child to miss a dragon egg in his sheets.</p><p>They rose for her with greetings, sitting only when she had taken her place at the table, making sure not to step on Ghost’s tail. If it endeared her to Robb Stark that she was not afraid of his wolf, his face did not betray it though Lady Catelyn and Ser Barristan had watched her carefully. Robb wore fine grey breeches, white doublet with a silver and black wolf’s head brooch, and he had recently bathed for his hair was still wet, brushed back from his face; his expression, however, was unreadable to her.</p><p>Lord Edmure waved the servants over and they arrived, with plates of apple and berry tarts, peaches and pears, black sausages and beef-and-barley stew, fresh bread with jams and hard cheeses.</p><p>Jon leaned over to speak to her over the din and clatter, “My cousins wished to have their wolves near them. I told them you were unafraid.”</p><p>Daenerys did not know her nephew well yet, but she believed he had done it as an act of kindness and not of cruelty.</p><p>Her nephew spoke more that morning than during their entire trip thus far, though all the eyes and lips were directed at Ser Barristan. Sansa courteously told him that even in the north, singers praised his deeds while Arya peppered him with questions of the tourney at Blackhaven when he had donned the armor of the mystery knight and jousted Prince Duncan. The men at the table were more interested in the War of the Ninepenny Kings and the Band of Nine. He answered all questions graciously, flattering the Tullys by insisting that it was Ser Brynden who truly distinguished himself during the War, though all knew it was Ser Barristan who struck down Maelys the Monstrous.</p><p>No one asked about Ser Barristan’s actions at Duskendale, how he had infiltrated the castle and rescued her father where an army at the gates could not. It was as though the knight’s heroic deeds ended with her father’s crowning.</p><p>In inns and keeps, over flagons of ciders, men in the Seven Kingdoms debated who was the greatest living knight, Ser Barristan or Ser Arthur. Ser Arthur may have wielded Dawn, and though he was beloved by the smallfolk, Daenerys thought there was something melancholy about him. She could not have imagined him sitting at this table, kindly answering the questions of children, making them laugh; somehow, in her mind’s eye, Ser Arthur belonged always at Rhaegar’s side, walking in the dark and lonely places of the world together.</p><p>Daenerys had heard these stories before, and Jon likely had to, but there was a comfort to hearing them again and in not having to fill the silences herself. Robb grew animated speaking to the knight, jostling with Jon for a chance to be heard, asking whether Ser Barristan might watch them spar later on so he may advise them on their footwork and technique.</p><p>He was as a little boy, in his enthusiasm and excitement. <em>At least I am to wed a man who can laugh and smile</em>, Daenerys thought, even if that happiness was not to be shared with her.</p><p>Ser Barristan obliged every request. When Lady Catelyn politely invited him to Winterfell so that her son Bran might have the honor meeting him, he agreed and said he would seek the king’s permission. He shared a look with Jon then, who shifted his attention to his breakfast plate instead.</p><p>The mention of Winterfell seemed to have similarly changed Robb’s mood. He grew more somber, once again, and finally turned to Daenerys.</p><p>“I had thought we might go for a walk in the godswood after we finish our meal, if it please your grace,” He met her eyes, but spoke quietly. His tone was all hollow courtesy.</p><p>“It would be my great pleasure.”</p><p>They did not speak again until the plates were cleared, and they stood underneath the tall redwoods and elms of Riverrun’s godswood grove. In place of a chaperone they were joined by Ser Barristan himself, and Robb’s wolf, Grey Wind; she supposed there was no better escort for an unwed woman than the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and a direwolf.</p><p>Grey Wind was leaner than Ghost, and his eyes were a less unsettling yellow rather than red. He was not nearly as quiet as Ghost; there were times when Daenerys could not even hear the white wolf’s breathing, but Grey Wind more closely resembled a normal wolf, though more massive and large and dangerous.</p><p>“My father built a sept for my mother in Winterfell,” Robb explained. They walked slowly, a few feet apart. “Your grace may pray there when you wish.”</p><p>Neither Daenerys nor Viserys had ever been ones for the sermons of septons and the only interest Dragonstone’s sept held for them was that it was where Aegon the Conqueror knelt to pray the night before he sailed.</p><p>“That was very kind of your father,” Daenerys responded politely, “I am sure the sept brought much comfort to your mother when she was a young bride.” <em>In a strange land, with a stranger for a husband, and no friends to speak of.</em></p><p>Robb did not answer.</p><p>“Have you ever seen a heart tree, princess?” He asked. They walked further on, his wolf now leading the way. There were wildflowers on the ground here, where the trees grew thicker, and small streams winding their way through the moss.</p><p>“You may call me Daenerys, if you wish,” She conceded. She ought to have told him that earlier. On Dragonstone, no one had been permitted to speak to them with their common names. “I saw the heart tree in the godswood of King’s Landing when I was a child.” She barely remembered it; it was a brown oak she thought.</p><p>“Winterfell’s godswood is ancient. It may seem like a dark and unfriendly wood, but it is a holy place where the gods live.”</p><p>She followed her betrothed deeper into the wood, until they were beneath a great canopy of trees. Ser Barristan was at her side now, and as the paths narrowed, he walked close to her, in case she lost her footing.</p><p>They approached a clearing, at the center of it a slender tree with a sad, carved face. It was a weirwood, with bone white bark and blood-red sap spilling from its face. Inexplicably, she thought of Jon and his wolf.</p><p>Daenerys knew well enough how a place could have power. But she did not sense power here, only the cool wind that shook the leaves and spread the smell of flowers and earth in the air. And an unsettled feeling, like someone did not wish her to be here; <em>that is Robb, and not his gods</em>, she thought.</p><p>Robb walked to the tree and faced his god in silence. Daenerys wondered what he prayed for, if he was praying. Perhaps for another bride, who would understand what it meant to stand here, and look into those red eyes and feel at peace.</p><p>What would she pray for, if she believed there were gods here who listened? For home, and if there was to be a husband there, one who she knew and loved or could love. She thought of Willas Tyrell, and Quentyn Martell, and of Viserys and Aegon but those choices did not comfort her either.</p><p>Ser Barristan leaned to speak quietly into her ear.</p><p>“I have seen the marks that Prince Daemon Targaryen cut in the heart tree in Harrenhal. Thirteen marks he made, one for each day he passed there with only his dragon for company. They say those marks bleed still, every spring,” The knight said. “That tree is not as this. It has a monstrous, hateful face.”</p><p>What courage or ill would it take, to walk up to such a tree, in such a castle, and mutilate it for no reason, save his own pleasure? Perhaps it took the might of a dragon behind you.</p><p>“Yet it did not frighten Prince Daemon.”</p><p>“Little did, your grace.”</p><p>Robb turned when he heard their voices, and he approached, finished with his invocations, his wolf following like a shadow. Ser Barristan retreated once more; he had been silent witness to many awkward courtships, undoubtedly.</p><p>“You may not often find yourself in the godswood save when we wed, but there is nothing in them that you should fear,” Robb said. He seemed changed, slightly, as though a tension had been lifted from him. <em>He belongs here</em>. “Has someone spoken to you of Northern weddings?”</p><p>If he felt any fear or shyness, he did not show it. There was something like a coldness in Robb… or not a coldness, but rather a way of speaking where his voice seemed detached from his self. It was the difference between a boy and a man, and he moved between the two as he wished.</p><p>“My septa spoke to me of Northern weddings, and my brother the prince some,” Daenerys explained. Of the tales Viserys had spun, it was best gone unspoken; there were tales of Northern lords who still took the first night rights. “But it would please me to learn from you if they had the truth of it.”</p><p>“As you wish,” Robb said, like a maester humoring his pupil.</p><p>Daenerys had practiced in Dragonstone’s gardens, under the eyes of thousands of gargoyles that brooded over the its wall. Hellhounds and wyverns had watched as she took the steps and recited the words for both bride and groom.</p><p>“The groom awaits where you stand, under the heart tree,” Daenerys said. Robb held his hands behind his back. “And he calls out, <em>who comes before the gods</em>? And bride’s escort answers from where he stands, and asks <em>who comes to claim her?</em> And they meet here, do they not, where we stand now?”</p><p>Daenerys continued, “And we recite our vows, join hands, and kneel before the heart tree.”</p><p>Robb Stark was bold enough to look at her, and not squirm under her gaze, but he did not to take her hand. A man like his uncle would have, a man that smiles came easily to, and love too.</p><p>“After a prayer, the bride and groom rise together and the cloaks are exchanged, is that so?” She concluded.</p><p>Robb nodded, turning back to face his tree, “Yes, your grace.”</p><p>--</p><p>The rest of the week proceeded much the same.</p><p>Daenerys spent her nights with Rhaenys, whispering secrets, the egg always resting between them, their stone guardian. During the day, Robb Stark’s cool courtesy kept her company. They went hawking and riding, and took meals together, but it was as though they were merely playing at courtship. There was nothing Daenerys could say which would interest or shock him, make him love or hate her.</p><p>She thought at times to speak to Rhaegar of it, but the words died on her lips. He was troubled by something, often alone save for the time he spent with Rhaenys and with Edmure’s lords, and did not ask after her often nor mention Robb. She had mistaken him for her father too often as a child; learning of Rhaenys’ egg and hearing naught but silence now was a final lesson otherwise. What could her troubles mean to him, a king with a realm to rule and children of his own, one who was to be king after him, another heavy with child, and a third searching out his own exile?</p><p>Her troubles seemed all the more diminished when Rhaenys woke her at midnight one night, and asked her to send for the maester.</p><p>Everything moved far too slowly after that.</p><p>Daenerys waited in the antechamber alone, frightened in her nightgown, watching as the keep sprung to life. The maester was the first to arrive, and then the Dornish midwives, and maids going back and forth, in and out, carrying pails of water and bedsheets and towels. It felt like an age that she sat there, forgotten, watching the door to Rhaenys’ chamber open and close, listening to the terrible sounds coming from within.</p><p>It was still dark when Lady Stark arrived. Even she did not seem to notice Daenerys’ presence; she went into the room with a single-minded purpose, ordering the maids to fetch fresh fruits and tea for Rhaenys, and not emerging from within.</p><p>At some point, a serving girl emerged and wrapped a robe around her to shield her modesty. The antechamber filled after that, with Rhaegar and his Kingsguard in tow.</p><p>Her brother was dressed, though there was a frazzled look about him, as though he had been woken out of a deep sleep and still wandered somewhere between day and dreams.  </p><p>“Why are you here?” He asked, his brow furrowed. “A birthing room is not a place for a maiden.”</p><p>Daenerys opened her mouth to object, but found she did not have it in her; perhaps it made her a coward, but she wanted to rest and be away from this room and the horrors that lay beyond.</p><p>But she could not. She found herself thinking of her mother. Who had kept silent vigil as she labored? In the end, it had not mattered.</p><p>A strange expression passed over Rhaegar’s face and he seemed to have forgotten his own words as soon as he uttered them, collapsing into the chair beside her.</p><p>And so they sat, for hours, for the better part of a day, speaking little, eating nothing, until Lady Catelyn emerged. Her smile banished the fear in Daenerys’ heart.</p><p>“A daughter, your grace,” She said. She looked tired, but there was joy there too.</p><p>It was far from over, Daenerys knew all too well. The danger had not passed for Rhaenys nor the babe.</p><p>They were kin now, and they would be doubly so in a few months when Daenerys married Robb. Lady Catelyn was good sister to a king’s beloved daughter, aunt to the king’s first granddaughter, and would be as a mother to his sister. It was a handsome reward, settling the debt of Prince Jaehaerys and Princess Shaera’s betrayal.</p><p>“And Rhaenys?” Rhaegar asked, his voice quiet.</p><p>“The princess is well, thank the gods. Your grace may go within, if you wish.”</p><p>He rose and with Ser Arthur, disappeared beyond the doors.</p><p>“Congratulations, your grace,” Lady Catelyn said. “You are a great aunt.”</p><p>She might have said, <em>I pray eagerly for the day when I hold your son’s son in my arms</em>, but that rang too sickly sweet and insincere, even in her own mind. Daenerys settled instead for a smile, and hoped it did not come out a grimace.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>•	Another difficult chapter. I’m ready for my characters to get to Winterfell, but trying to be patient, though I moved things along a little quicker here than I planned. I spent a lot of time vacillating over Robb’s characterization. In the text, we get to know him from the POV of his family who know and love him, or from enemies that relate to him as a warrior. I found the parts in ASOIAF where Catelyn says he reminds her of Brandon or Ned really interesting, and it made me think of who he would be if he got the chance to be an adult (though in this fic, he is not hardened by war as he was in canon). He is aged up in this story as are all the characters and understands perfectly well how strained the relationship is with the Targaryens, so I tried to depict him from the perspective of a young princess who is not used to being refused, and who does not understand the full truth of that relationship.<br/>•	For this chapter and thinking through Rhaegar's relationship to the prophecy, I was really inspired by this <a href="https://aegonbeingfakeisracist.tumblr.com/post/644415156696285184/also-if-lyanna-and-rhaegar-had-survived-do-you">meta</a> and the author's thoughts on what Rhaegar would have done if he survived, and realized Jon was not Visenya. I've represented it differently in different fics but here I wanted to play with the idea that he is still invested in his children; as someone else pointed out, Viserys was already born by the time Rhaegar went off with Lyanna so it could be argued that at that point he didn't think the three heads could be his siblings. I don't think we'll know the full truth of it unless GRRM goes more into it, but I thought I would go with something different here, where Rhaegar's prophetic obsessions have shifted since Lyanna, and not necessarily to Daenerys or Viserys.<br/>•	Thank you to everyone who has been reading and enjoying the story, and leaving me comments to let me know. I really appreciate it and it is very motivating to read all your feedback!<br/>•	Next up: more time with the Stark sisters and the journey continues</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Daenerys IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Winterfell approaches.</p><p>Warning: Sex is discussed in this chapter, but not explicitly described</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Daenerys could have lingered there for months longer. There was no place more joyful, she thought, as Riverrun was in those days.</p><p>Rhaenys’ daughter was born with a full head of black hair and Tully blue eyes. They named her Betha and if Lord Edmure was disappointed to have a daughter and not a son, he hid it well. In the weeks after the birth, Lord Tully could be found only at his wife’s bedside, speaking to her softly, holding their babe in his arms and telling anyone, maids or knights alike, that she was the most beautiful child in the world, insisting that she smiled at him when he held her, and already knew and loved him.</p><p>He had the truth of it. She was perfect. And when Rhaenys held her, they were perfect together.</p><p>For the rest of them, it was as though they were all jostling to be in their light.</p><p>Rhaenys was permitted visitors after the first week, when Maester Vyman and her midwives determined that the danger had passed. She was not left alone for a moment after that. Daenerys was her most constant companion; second only to Edmure himself and Lady Catelyn, who, as with everything she did, asked after Rhaenys and supervised Betha’s care with a quiet, calm efficiency. She was careful not to play the doting mother, offering advice sparsely and only when asked.</p><p>Rhaenys’ own mother had departed King’s Landing but would arrive when they were well on their journey on the Kingsroad; a careful negotiation to ensure the Queen would not be in the same castle as the king’s bastard. She knew enough of the Starks now to understand what grievous harm it would be to send Jon away or to lower him to the status of a hedge knight, or worse.</p><p>After weeks of sharing a bed, sharing the secret of Rhaenys’ dragon egg, Daenerys felt she could speak to Rhaenys of anything; the queen’s feelings on Jon, however, being the sole exception.</p><p>They had danced around it, once.</p><p>“Were you frightened?”</p><p>They sat on the balcony that opened off Rhaenys’ solar, from which they could see the confluence of the Tumblestone and the Red Fork. Here, in the daylight, in the sun, they could speak of such things; the horrors of the birthing bed felt distant, an impossible nightmare.</p><p>Rhaenys looked at her, as though measuring whether to tell the truth. New mothers seemed always to hide the truth of their labors, as though it were all forgotten once they held their child in their arms. But Rhaenys would tell her. “Yes,” She admitted, softly. “Maester Vyman said it was an easy birth. He scares me when he speaks so. If that was <em>easy</em>, what of my next one?”</p><p><em>You should not think of it</em>, Daenerys thought to say. But it could not be so. Lord Edmure had no brothers. His uncle, Brynden Tully, was unmarried still. Riverrun and the Riverlands would pass to young Bran Stark then. Rhaenys could not avoid thinking on that. They would try until they had a son, like most all women did. <em>It will end in joy for Rhaenys</em>, Daenerys prayed.</p><p>“You should not think of it now,” Daenerys said instead.</p><p>Rhaenys nodded. “I have been frightened for eight months. Edmure’s mother died in that room. I had thought to ask to be moved or taken to King’s Landing so I may have the child there, but there is no women’s bedchamber that has not been a place for horror and fear. King’s Landing most of all.”</p><p>Daenerys’ own mother had lost eight babes, their ashes interred with so many other Targaryen princesses and princes on Dragonstone.</p><p>“To live and to be forever scarred by it, that frightened me too,” Rhaenys continued, giving voice to fears and doubts she had nursed alone too long. “My mother fared so poorly after my birth and Aegon’s nearly killed her. It is a hard thing to leave your room each day, and smile and greet those who call you weak in your absence and speak of your empty and ruined womb.”</p><p>She knew. Everyone knew. In a foul mood one evening, Viserys had turned his sadness on Daenerys. It was Daenerys’ fault, he claimed, for being born too late. He said if she had been born more timely, Rhaegar would have married her instead of Elia and if he had been happy in his wife, he would not have needed Lyanna Stark. They could have been as a true family then. Daenerys had gone so far as to tell Viserys that it was his fault for not being born a girl. He had not spoken to her for days after that.</p><p>Everything seemed to come around to the happiness of men. It was not enough to be an obedient and faithful wife, nor to give him a son and heir. There were other things a wife must do or be, things she did not understand. She understood what might make Viserys happy – a woman who did not give space to her own doubts and worries and fears, but allowed him to fill their life with his own and stood by to comfort and love him. Perhaps not all men would require their wives to give them so much of themselves.</p><p>She reached across the table and took Rhaenys’ hand.</p><p>Rhaenys smiled. “My father told me of how you waited outside for me. I know it is not easy to stand outside the door and imagine what goes on beyond. I was only four when Jon was born and… it was difficult.”</p><p>“In King’s Landing? They allowed you in the room?” Daenerys frowned.</p><p>“My father filled my head with stories of the sister I would soon have. Aegon was too small to play and entirely disappointing,” Rhaenys laughed wryly, and pulled her hand away. “And I thought a sister would be a born playmate. I wanted to be the first to meet her, so she would love me most. But… the screams were terrible. And the moment those doors opened I raced in like a hellcat.” Daenerys could picture that, Rhaenys so eager for a new sibling to enlist in her games, so sweet that she was prepared to love even a bastard. “They were cleaning the babe and I was so angry that he was a boy after all. And afterwards, I saw all the blood and someone carried both Jon and I out of the room. They let me hold him, but all I remember both of us weeping.”</p><p>Rhaenys turned her gaze to Daenerys now. “You will not speak of this to Jon.”</p><p>Daenerys knew the circumstances of her own birth; Jon surely did too. She had heard washerwomen and serving girls yelling at their wayward children, telling them that their birth was a misery and so was their rearing. Perhaps Jon’s own mother had chastised him similarly when he was up to some mischief. But she promised nonetheless. “I will not.”</p><p>“It will not be so for you. Lady Catelyn will be with you,” Rhaenys insisted. “But we should not speak so on the eve of your marriage. There are other things that will come to pass in your bed, before it comes to that.” Her niece smiled wickedly now, and it was clear precisely what she meant.</p><p>Daenerys did not have to play the blushing maid with Rhaenys. She thought of what Viserys had said, and of Queen Elia, and the Lady Lyanna.</p><p>“What if I cannot please him?” Daenerys asked.</p><p>It did not matter, she knew. If she was ever bold enough to speak so to her septa, that was what she would have said; it not a matter of pleasure, or want, but of duty and a lord’s son and heir would know his duty. But she was a young girl and duty and duty alone was a bitter cup to drink from.</p><p>“How old are you, Dany? And Robb?”</p><p>“I will be eighteen, when the moon turns. And Robb Stark is no more than a year older. ”</p><p>“If it his desire that concerns you, cast those worries from your mind. He may play at being the sour lord during the day, but with a beautiful woman in his bed, he will be as all men are, eager and wanting.”</p><p>Daenerys must have looked skeptical.</p><p>“You will see. You will think of me on your wedding night,” Rhaenys laughed, and Daenerys could not help but smile. “Well, not of me, but of this. Neither of you will wish to live that bed for weeks, believe me.”</p><p>They spent the rest of the afternoon, giggling like girls.</p><p>Neither of them wept when it was time to depart, though it was a bitter farewell all the same. They parted in her solar with promises that they would write and when next they met, they would bring their children so their sons and daughters would learn to love each other as they did. Jon said his goodbyes to his sister in private as well and what words were exchanged between the siblings, Daenerys did not know, only that Jon emerged looking on the verge of weeping. She did not dare speak to him, and by the time they were outside to join the Starks, his expression was once again passive, betraying no sign of unshed tears.</p><p>Outside, Lord Edmure was in the middle of the noise and chaos of men loading wagons, and harnessing and saddling horses, but bid them farewell kindly. Ser Barristan was shouting commands while Ser Arthur had some words with a group of the king’s knights who were to join them. In the end, it was not the Lord Commander who would leave the king’s side to escort them north but Ser Arthur. It was for Jon, she thought, it was to the Wall.</p><p>The Starks seemed similarly in chaos. Arya was trying to round up her wolf, who seemed to want to escape into the godswood, while her sister Sansa looked on, cross and embarrassed. Lord Stark was near the wagons, exchanging words with his captain of the guards, leaving Rhaegar to Lady Catelyn and Robb.</p><p>As they approached, the king was saying something Daenerys could not hear to Robb while Lady Catelyn looked on, smiling proudly. Her betrothed wore all black today, as though he was riding to his doom and not to his wedding.</p><p>Rhaegar on the other hand was dressed simply today, crownless, and seemed happier somehow for it, happier at least than he had seen him on their journey. Happy to be rid of them, perhaps, or to be rid of the worry of them. He would remain here to meet his queen, and at least for a short while, he would simply be a grandfather, in the company of his favorite child and his wife.</p><p>Even if she felt the need, Daenerys knew she could not cry here, could not so much as a frown, not here within view of the Starks. If she or Jon thought to make some last minute plea, Rhaegar had left them no place for that. They would do their duty and smile as they did.</p><p>It was no difficult thing for her; she was a princess born, and had not wept in view of anyone but her own blood since she was a child. But there were things she wished she could have said. <em>I want to go home</em>, most of all. But other things too… She could not say the words to Rhaegar, not now and not ever, but she wished she could have said them to someone. She wished she could have kissed Garlan Tyrell, and learned how to make a man smile. She wished she would have listened to more of Viserys’ stories, even the ones she did not believe. She would have gone to see her father, and after that she would have known there was nothing more in the world left to fear. She would have been braver.</p><p>Rhaegar turned to them, but it was Jon who spoke first.</p><p>“Farewell, father,” He looked at his feet as he spoke.</p><p>Rhaegar reached out and touched his son’s cheek, lifting his head so their eyes met.</p><p>“I know you will do well,” Rhaegar said, softly.</p><p>Jon would not cry; the moment for it had passed and he was too proud to shame himself by weeping now.</p><p>“I will,” Jon said, with courage and dignity.</p><p>Rhaegar nodded, and turned his gaze to Daenerys now.</p><p>“When last I saw you, you were a little more than a child holding Viserys’ hand. When next I see you, you will be smiling I hope, with a son clinging to your skirt,” He did not put his hand on her cheek as he had with Jon, or embrace her, but his words touched her nonetheless. Perhaps Lord Stark would permit her to travel to King’s Landing for the wedding of Aegon and Margaery. Perhaps she would see them all again then.</p><p>Her brother motioned to Ser Arthur, who turned to retrieve something from one of the chests and emerged with a bundle of silks in his arms. When he brought it to the king, Rhaegar pulled away the layers and held it up, Daenerys saw her marriage cloak, a rich black cloak embroidered with the red, three-headed dragon. Diamonds were sewn into their eyes, and rubies flickered on their burning tongues.</p><p>He would not be there, however, to put it around her shoulders nor escort her to her groom. That would fall to Lord Velaryon or Ser Arthur himself.</p><p>“Queen Elia embroidered the cloak. You will be the first bride to wear it.” It was an apt gift; a new cloak, one which was not tainted by any past unhappiness and worked in the queen’s own hand, a blessing for their marriage. Rhaegar spoke to both her and Robb now. “We all do what we must, but there is love to be found in marriage if both man and wife are willing to search for it. I pray this will mark the start of such a life for you both.”</p><p>“Thank you, Your Grace,” Robb smiled courteously.</p><p>Rhaegar’s gaze fell on Lady Catelyn now and the happiness Daenerys thought hung from him before seemed to melt away. He paused. “My lady, she is my only sister.”</p><p>In that moment, Daenerys felt sad and lost and lonely all at once.</p><p>“She will be to me as my own daughter, Your Grace,” Lady Catelyn vowed.</p><p>--</p><p>Their progress was slow. Rhaegar had preferred to travel with a small riding party in order to make haste, but the Starks’ party was too large for such swiftness. They were one hundred riders hundred in total, with ten carriages trailing after them. Their pace was to remain so until they passed the Neck; at which point, they would ride ahead with a smaller guard and leave the remainder of their party behind to meet later in Winterfell.</p><p>The Starks were able riders, and Daenerys found herself grateful for the time she had already spent on Rain and they fell into an easier rhythm now. Jon lingered near her the first few days, speaking little but once he saw she was more comfortable, he raced ahead with Robb to ride at the front with Lord Stark. Sansa spent her time exchanging excited whispers with her companion Jeyne, doubtless regarding the more handsome of the king’s knights, while Arya seemed always in half a gallop, moving up and down the line to speak to squires, serving girls, and grooms alike, bold enough to ask the impassive Ser Arthur for stories of the Kingswood Brotherhood. Ser Arthur obliged, and Arya could be heard singing songs of Wenda the White Fawn for days afterwards.</p><p>It was Lady Catelyn who was her most frequent riding companion.</p><p>She spoke to her of Winterfell and all that would await her there; Daenerys had known the names of the Northern houses since she was a girl, as she memorized all of the houses of Westeros, and on Dragonstone Viserys and her septa had ensured she knew what it meant to run a household, even if they did not often let her decisions stand. But Lady Catelyn shared with her things which no one but she knew, as much as she could say within earshot of the other riders in their party; of the bannermen and ladies and servants, of the cruel times that would come with winter, and the hard times for any southron bride. Musicians infrequently travelled to Winterfell, and it could be years before there was proper dancing save for the ribaldry of harvest feasts when the benches were pushed aside lords and servants alike took the floor.</p><p>“Perhaps you can honor us with some songs of Dragonstone, princess,” Lady Catelyn suggested. She spoke kindly, always; there were no barbs concealed in her words, seeking to snag and pull at something, uncovering her. “Sansa would surely delight in that.”</p><p>“Dragonstone is a dark place, my lady, with dark songs which would cast shadows in Winterfell’s halls,” Daenerys replied. Secret songs too, ones written in High Valyrian by her ancestors, stored in the library. Some were in Rhaegar’s own hand, and those were the saddest of all.</p><p>“I have not had the honor of visiting.”</p><p>Doubtless Lady Catelyn had heard the tales, of monsters and ghouls and gargoyles that came to life at night. Viserys had told her that ghosts did not exist, so long as you did not believe in them. Daenerys did not, and they had never troubled her.</p><p>“Perhaps after his wedding, Prince Aegon may offer us an invitation,” Daenerys replied. <em>Perhaps after my father is dead</em>, she thought, for what Stark would step foot in the castle which housed their kin’s murderer.</p><p>Lady Catelyn, likely of the same mind, nodded politely.</p><p>“Your maids and ladies in waiting will await you in Winterfell. Wylla Manderly will be chief among them,” Lady Catelyn explained. “She is of age with you and of noble birth. And my daughters, as well, I have counseled them to attend to you as best they can. They see only the excitement of being a bride but not of the difficulties.”</p><p>It could not have been the same for Catelyn Tully. She was betrothed to Brandon Stark for years, Daenerys knew, and had to mourn him and take his brother in his place on the cusp of a war. From what she had seen, Lord Stark was solemn man. Surely there had not been little excitement for her in those days.</p><p>As she said that, Arya Stark came galloping past, holding a bunch of wildflowers, weaving her way through to her father, who accepted them with a smile. Robb and Jon looked on, laughing.</p><p>Lady Catelyn shook her head. “Perhaps your grace will do what my daughter’s septa cannot, and encourage her to be a lady.”</p><p>Daenerys had ever been a quiet and calm child, but her flowering had marked the end of any wildness her. Viserys had seen to it that she would arrive to her husband’s house untouched by any man, accomplished and obedient.</p><p>She envied Arya, but when thought of the day her girlhood would end as Dany’s had, she was left only with pity.</p><p>She sought her out. If Lady Catelyn’s words had been a veiled entreaty for Daenerys to spend more time among her youngest daughter, then she would do as she would serve her as best she could.</p><p>The girl was hard to find. Some of the stark men called her Arya Underfoot and there was no better name; she seemed always to be in the wrong place, causing trouble when Daenerys sought peace, and out of sight when Daenerys sought her out.</p><p>They were approaching the Neck now, and its endless bog, and their numbers had swelled to two hundred as free riders and peasants joined their ranks. It was humid and damp here, not in the way the sea was but clammy and foul. At night, they stopped right on the kingsroad, unable to make camp among the half-drowned trees and the quicksands.</p><p>Daenerys sought out Arya on one such morning, before they began the day’s journey and the camp was awaking, servants boiling water and free riders cooking their breakfasts over open flames. Jeyne Poole said she had last seen the girl to the east of the camp where a broken causeway led to small fields of blood-blooms. Daenerys had seen snakes and lizard-lions off the road, and brought Ser Arthur with her on her search.</p><p>They walked carefully through wet paths and underneath sagging, heavy trees. It felt as though the ground was melting into her boots, but she strode on.</p><p>Ser Arthur frowned, and said half to himself. “If I may speak freely, your grace, this unruliness in a girl… In the end, it always leads to grief.”</p><p>Ser Arthur was few of words, but he had never before seemed such a sour old man to her. Like Rhaegar, his face was not made for smiles. And like Rhaegar, he measured each word carefully, rationing them out cheaply. Once, when Rhaenys teased him of his silence, he had smiled a small smile and said the less a man spoke, the less likely he was to say the wrong words.</p><p>They walked a while longer and when Daenerys thought to finally turn around and look for Arya once again in the camp, they heard noises floating through the woods. It was not the chatter of insects or animals, but a breathy sound, like a hiss.</p><p>To her ears, it was the wind. To Ser Arthur’s, trained to hear other things, trained to protect and serve, it was danger.</p><p>He held his arms out, stopping her from advancing. The sound came again.</p><p>And suddenly, slowly, Ser Arthur unsheathed his sword. She had never seen Dawn before. It shone, pale as milkglass, and she could see the truth in the myth. Nothing but the heart of a fallen star could have forged such beauty.</p><p>Daenerys found her words. “Careful, ser, Arya Stark plays here.”</p><p>He nodded, but did not return his weapon to its scabbard.</p><p>They had no time to retreat.</p><p>She heard laughter, and someone cursing, and then something unseen thrummed through the thick air and was upon her, slicing through her cheek and disappearing behind her. Daenerys did not have time to raise her hand to her face. She heard an unseen voice shout a curse and another one came, catching on the sleeve of her dress and ripping through the fabric.</p><p>Suddenly, she was down, pressed into the cold mud, Ser Arthur’s body above hers. Her mouth filled with the ground.</p><p>“Stay down,” He commanded, his voice like steel, one hand on her back and the other on his sword. Another hiss. He shouted, “To the princess! To the princess!”</p><p>There were more shouts after that, though these came from the direction of the camp. Her arm hurt from where it was twisted under her as the Sword of the Morning held her down, her face burning, and she turned her head to the voices, and watched as men emerged from the dense thickets of trees, king’s men all, swords in their hands, some armored but all fierce, with battle already in their eyes.</p><p>“In the trees,” He shouted, and the men approached more slowly, using the wildness for cover. <em>Arrows</em>, she finally understood.</p><p>More men arrived, but Daenerys could hardly see. Ser Arthur had pulled her to her knees, and dragged her behind a tree. She touched her cheek, at last, and when she drew her hand away she could see blood.</p><p>The sight of it scared it. She wanted to be brave, but she couldn’t. She clung to Ser Arthur’s arm.</p><p>It ended as quickly as it had started.</p><p>Someone shouted out, “come here, boy” and another said, “don’t run” and two children were dragged roughly from the thickets by one of the king’s men, a knight with the red salmon of House Mooten on his doublet. Another with the sigil of House Lonmouth held a pair of wooden swords and a bow with a quiver of arrows.</p><p>“Let me go! <em>Stop it</em>!” One of the them shouted, squirming under the Mooten knight’s grasp, kicking and punching at him.</p><p>A direwolf came bounding out of the woods, its teeth bared and suddenly, Jon’s voice rang out in a cold anger. Daenerys had not seen him arrive in the confusion. “Let her go.” He sheathed his sword and walked over to the children. The smaller one ran into his arms, and Daenerys saw it was Arya. Some knight made as though to slash at the direwolf with his sword but was held back by a Northerner. Nymeria growled and tensed, but was at last calmed when she saw no danger was to come to the girl.</p><p>“They were just playing,” She said dumbly.</p><p>Ser Arthur was the only one who heard her. A few moments ago, he had been read to fight and kill and die. And now, he put his sword away and held her face in his hands, surveying her wound.</p><p>“And arrow grazed your cheek but it is little more than a scratch, your grace,” He said, and though his voice was even there was a bite to it.</p><p>Arya’s companion was crying now. “She ast me to, m’lord,” he said. “She ast me to.”</p><p>“Quiet, boy!” A angry voice shouted.</p><p>Ser Arthur called out, evenely, “Ser Mooten, take the boy to camp.”</p><p>Daenerys felt only shame. Why was she still so frightened? <em>It was a game of children gone awry</em>, she thought, but the tension and danger lingered, men with their swords still in their hands or their hands on the hilt.</p><p>They marched quickly back to camp, her white knight saying nothing but his anger stewing silently beside her. Daenerys heard excited voices and a few men called to them but they said nothing, spoke to no one, until they were alone in the knight’s tent. He sat her down in his cot, heated the water up himself, and with a clean towel saw to the work of cleaning her face.</p><p>There was arguing outside, and shouting, but Daenerys could not make it out. It was difficult to listen, to pay heed to anything beyond the feel of the cloth on her face, the smell of the earth still on her clothes.</p><p>“It is a bad omen,” She found herself saying.</p><p>The knight shook his head, “Forgive me your grace, but it is no omen. It is the foolishness of the children and of their fathers.”</p><p>They said nothing more as he turned his attention to her arm. The arrow had not torn through only her clothes, as she thought, but scraped her skin with it. Ser Arthur saw to that cut as well.</p><p>It was then that the flaps of the tent were lifted and Robb walked in. He was frowning, his expression severe.</p><p>“Are you hurt?” He asked. He sounded frightened, but that could not be.</p><p>“No, it is little more than a scratch,” She found herself repeating.</p><p>He walked over and held her face in his hands, turning her cheek to inspect the wound as Ser Arthur had. It was the first time he had touched but she felt only a blind shock.</p><p>When he was satisfied with what he saw, he drew his hands away.</p><p>“I am glad. I am… sorry… I…” He turned to Ser Arthur now. “Ser, it was my sister and a boy she had taken to playing, the son of a butcher. It was he that loosed the arrows. Some of the knights are speaking of taking his head.”</p><p>Ser Arthur was silent. “He did harm upon the blood of the dragon. He must be tried, and judged, and punished.”</p><p>“Punished?” Daenerys awoke as though slapped.</p><p>“Punished, your grace,” Ser Arthur repeated, grievously. “So has it been decreed since the days of Aegon the Conqueror.”</p><p>“He is just a boy,” Robb protested, carefully. “They were pretending to be bandits. It could have just as easily been my sister who held that bow.”</p><p>Ser Arthur gave him a dark look and in it went unsaid, <em>your sister would have faced her judgement too.</em></p><p>Robb caught the meaning of it. “My father will not allow it.”</p><p>“It is the king’s law,” The knight replied, defiant.</p><p>Another argument was happening outside.</p><p><em>A butcher’s boy</em>, Daenerys thought, <em>playing at bandits with Arya Stark</em>. She had heard Ser Arthur’s stories and sought to act them out. Though the blades were not real, the arrows had been. Daenerys wondered from where she had stolen them. It was madness, it was beyond wildness.</p><p>And yet. Rhaegar had told her of how they must try to understand the small folk and listen to them, if they could. </p><p>“Enough,” Daenerys found herself saying. “Take me to this boy.”</p><p>Robb opened his mouth as though to say something but thought better of it. Instead, he led them out of the tent.</p><p>Everyone’s eyes were on her as they worked their way to the center. She thought of what Viserys would do, if any had dared strike him… And Rhaegar… that was a harder thought. Would he be merciful, or just?</p><p>If it was her father, the boy would be dead already and Arya Stark and her wolf, who dared bare its teeth at them, would have paid the price for her part of it too.</p><p><em>I must show no fear, no weakness, no doubt</em>, Daenerys thought.<em> However frightened my heart, when they look upon my face they must see on the blood of the dragon</em>.</p><p>Men were gathered under a pavilion, where Lord Stark and Lady Stark stood, looking grim. Jon had a hand on Arya’s shoulder but she wept still, pleading with her father who stood impassive, his eyes drawn over the butcher’s boy, held still by the king’s knights. Someone had brought forward a wooden table and rope, and on it rested a sword.</p><p>Daenerys could see now the boy was older than Arya but a young boy nonetheless, his face wet with tears.</p><p>Beside him stood a man, frightening and shaking. <em>His father</em>, Daenerys thought. He did not dare speak.</p><p>“<em>Don’t hurt him!” </em>Arya was crying out, “It’s not fair!”</p><p>“Ser Arthur,” Lord Stark called out. “Your knights would like to take this boy’s head.”</p><p>Ser Arthur drew himself forward, “Lord Stark, the last time a man was found guilty of striking one of royal blood, it was decreed by the king he should lose his hands.”</p><p>“<em>His hands</em>?” The boy’s father cried out. “Please no, m’lord, please no.” One of the knights shouted at him to be silent.</p><p>There was a foul smell in the air. <em>The boy has soiled himself</em>, Daenerys realized. He was terrified.</p><p>“And what king was that?” Lord Stark asked, his voice like ice.</p><p>Ser Arthur said nothing at first.</p><p>“King Rhaegar is hundreds of leagues away in Riverrun,” Ser Arthur at last replied. “It is the princess who must sit in judgement of this boy and you, lord of these domains.”</p><p>Lord Stark turned to her, and there was something in his eyes that made her want to shy away, to hide. She would not, no matter what. “I say I will not allow the butchering of children. What say you, your grace?”</p><p>There were a hundred gazes upon her. Robb was at her side, tense as though holding his breath in, Sansa somewhere among the crowds, scared and almost weeping. And Jon, holding Arya, but not saying a word. He looked at her, without hate or anger, looked and watched and waited.</p><p>“No,” Daenerys said. “I will not leave a trail of blood behind me.” She walked to the boy, and touched his shoulder. He flinched away, crying, but calmed when he met her eyes. “Don’t be afraid, they won’t hurt you.” She turned to his father now, “Go and take your son, if you wish, or stay under your journey ends. No harm shall come to you, whatever your choice.”</p><p>She looked now at the knights, the men who had called for the boy’s life. “Unhand him.”</p><p>They did as she commanded. Some seemed relieved, others angry. It did not matter to her.</p><p>Lord Stark spoke now. “If any men should do the boy ill, you will face my judgement in Winterfell.”</p><p>There was no more to be said. Ser Arthur led Daenerys to her tent so she might change into clean, riding clothes before they began the day’s march.</p><p>“Ser, have I done well?” Daenerys found herself asking, and suddenly she was a little girl once again.</p><p>“You have acted as your brother would have, when he was Prince of Dragonstone,” Ser Arthur replied.</p><p>“And what might he have done as king?”</p><p>The knight thought on it. “I cannot presume to speak for the king, your grace. I believe he would, for your wounds are small. But if the arrow had caused greater damage or taken your eye then… Perhaps it would have ended differently.”</p><p>She wanted to protest. <em>He would not, </em>she thought, <em>he would not take out a child’s eye or cut off his hand</em>. Her brother was no monster. But she stayed quiet, and thought on his words.</p><p>--</p><p>Things seemed to change after that.</p><p>Arya was brought to her by Lord Stark, tearful and apologetic, and rode in sullen silence for the remainder of the journey. She seemed frightened of Ser Arthur now, riding away whenever she caught sight of him.</p><p>Robb, however, was perhaps the most transformed. He rode alongside her now, and took his mother’s place, speaking to her softly, quietly of Winterfell. He told of her of the hot pools in the godswood where she could bathe, if she wished, and of the glass gardens. He told her of first trip they could take when they wed to House Cerwyn and the honeymoon tour they would take.</p><p>He did not flirt, nor try to charm her, but it was enough.</p><p>One day, as they rode through a particular treacherous path in the last part of their journey in the Neck, she had had to dismount her horse, unable to guide him through the thick mud. Robb had taken her to ride with him then, and it had been frightening, perhaps more than what happened in the woods, to ride behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist, her face buried in his back. He smelled of soap and sweat and it was an exhilarating sort of fear, a sweetness to it.</p><p>When she dismounted, Robb’s face was red; from the ride, or their closeness, she did not know.</p><p>The ride fed something in her that had been growing since she flowered. Lying abed in her bed that night, she wondered how it would be to have Robb Stark squeezed in beside her. The thought was more exciting than it should have been.</p><p>A month and a half after their departure from Riverrun, the sight of Winterfell appeared on the horizon. It was a hulking castle, larger than the Red Keep, larger than Dragonstone even, grey and bound by massive walls, hugged by acres of forest.</p><p>They passed by the place they called the winter town, rode through its muddy streets and past its wooden stalls, and past the main gates, and were greeted with shouts of <em>Winterfell </em>and <em>Stark </em>and <em>The Sword of the Morning.  </em>Daenerys was crowned today in gleaming garnet tiara and wore a satin black gown, trimmed with red lace, and a fur cloak but few called out <em>Targaryen.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you to everyone who has hung in there with me, and for reading &amp; commenting and engaging with me! It has been really fun to get back into writing and I very much appreciate it.</p><p>•	This was a fun chapter for me to write. I draw from the Dunk &amp; Egg novellas. In ASOIAF we hear of Targaryen rule secondhand, but I really enjoyed seeing how ideas of Targaryen supremacy play out first hand in D&amp;E. I also drew a lot from Arya’s AGOT adventures on the Trident.<br/>•	I went back and forth about how serious I wanted things to get in the forest but as the characters are aged up here, I decided to go for it. As many people have discussed eloquently in meta, in many ways as much as she was loved I do think Ned just didn’t know what to do with Arya. He organized her lessons with Syrio as a way for her to work through her anger, but clearly still had very patriarchal notions of what her future would look like and what roads were open to her. I wanted this to chapter to represent the increasing danger to a young woman as she tries to resist those limitations. The AU relationship between Ned &amp; Lyanna and the way that impacts his raising of Arya will come into later chapters.<br/>•	I am starting to realize more the limitations of working with only Dany’s POV and missing out on interactions she wouldn’t be privy to (like the farewell between Jon and Rhaenys). I’m considering opening it up to other POVs but I’m going to mull it over.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Ned I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Wedded and bedded.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning: There are descriptions of a bedding ceremony in this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It is an extravagance we can little afford,” Ned said grimly. “With that money, we could rebuild and man the Wolfswood tower, or expand on the Winter Town. How could it be so wholly wasted?”</p><p>Catelyn had heard it all before. She listened patiently nonetheless, but with a wry smile on her face. “And with the dowry you can do those things and more. We can build holdfasts for our sons and grandsons. Will you be so miserly when it is your own daughters who are to wed?”</p><p>That was another matter he preferred not to think about. The Greatjon had struck to the heart of it when the Umbers arrived in Winterfell ahead of the wedding; he had given his congratulations to Robb and turned to Ned to ask, “<em>And what of my son? When will he be feasted? Is it not time that Umber and Stark wed once again?” </em></p><p>The other lords had said as much, in not so many words. Rickard Karstark had brought with him his son Harrion, Helman Tallhart his son Benfred, Medger Cerwyn brought Cley, and they circled his daughters like dogs. Ned could not postpone a betrothal for long. The prospect left him bone tired and weary. He had negotiated and fought over the terms of Robb’s betrothal for nigh on two years, haggling with the king and his Master of the Coin for the princess’s hand like crones at a market stall. Only Rhaegar could have a man fighting so for something he did not desire.</p><p>What would it have meant to decline the match? It would have meant insult. It would have meant danger. After all these years, the king remained unknowable to him. Perhaps he would have done nothing, simply betrothed the princess to another lord’s son, as he had threatened whenever a disagreement arose over the terms of the marriage. It would be all forgotten. But it was just as likely he would brood on the insult. If Rhaegar himself did not act on it, the Prince Aegon might, years from now when he himself was king. If the North had need to call on the crown for men or swords, would the king answer then? Or would Ned’s refusal of the princess fester like a wound until the Targaryens extracted another price in exchange?</p><p>Unkindly, he thought to when Lord Karstark had brought his daughter Alys to Winterfell. Ned had thought Robb too young, and to think of child betrothed and wed was a far off thing yet. He had gone over it a hundred times in his mind as they journeyed to Riverrun and back; should they have arranged it? Where would they be now, if they had? Would Robb be happier with Alys Karstark?  </p><p>When he shared his misgivings with Catelyn one night, she told him it was folly to speak of roads not taken and folly to talk of Robb’s happiness when it was his own he meant.</p><p>There was truth in her words, and he tried to remember that now, on today of all days when his firstborn was to wed.</p><p>It was in Robb to be happy easily. He was as firstborn sons were, eager and assured in a way Ned never had been. Jon’s presence had tempered him, however, taught him from a young age what it might mean to behave without thought, to break a vow, and he was cautious and thoughtful of the things that mattered.</p><p>Robb held himself apart from the princess in a way that worried Ned. It was in those moments that Ned saw Rickard Stark in his son; the aloofness, the coldness, the way he could close his heart and eyes to things he did not wish to see. His son had softened when Daenerys spared the boy in the Neck, but not entirely. He behaved as he thought Ned would want him to behave, as his grandfather and Brandon would, as though his bride was a burden to bear.</p><p>Catelyn walked over to Ned, and smoothed the frowning wrinkles from his forehead.</p><p>“Go to our son, Ned,” She said, softly, smiling. “And I will meet you in the godswood, where we will see our child wed.”</p><p>Ned obeyed.</p><p>He found his son in his room with Jon, holding the wedding cloak and dressed in the grey breeches and white doublet Catelyn had ordered made for him, with sleeves and collar trimmed with fur. <em>My son is a man </em>now, Ned though with shock.</p><p>He remembered the babe Catelyn had presented to him at Winterfell, bundled in her arms, his eyes still closed, and the boy who would come to him with a pouty upper lip, on the verge of tears but trying to be brave, whenever he was hurt. And the young man, who was so pleased with himself when he was finally as tall as Ned, and could not stop looking in the mirror when the first wisps of hair appeared on his upper lip and cheeks.</p><p>And now he would be wed and tonight he would lie with a woman, and in a year perhaps he would have his own son to care for.</p><p>The thought of it made Ned sad. It was a sweet sadness, but it struck his heart nonetheless all the more-so when he saw Jon. His nephew was finely dressed but bewildered, and the bewilderment read on his face like moroseness.</p><p>“You look well, Robb,” Ned said, putting a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You both do. Are you prepared?”</p><p>Robb nodded, “I think so.”</p><p>“The wedding will seem both too short and too long but you will look back at it one day gladly, I hope,” Ned said. Perhaps it was too late now for such words. Perhaps it was too late for encouragement, when his son had seen him approach this day with dread. “She seems an amiable girl. And she is likely feeling as you do now and as I did at my wedding, and your mother as well.”</p><p>Robb looked apprehensive, an unasked question on his lips, and Ned thought he knew what it was that troubled him. Jon, perhaps sensing it, made as though to leave.</p><p>“Stay Jon. I would have you both hear this,” Ned said, softly. “Tonight, during the bedding…”</p><p>Robb’s face blushed furiously, and he protested, “No, father, I do not…”</p><p>Jon looked at his feet.</p><p>He thought of a different time, when he was a boy younger than Robb and his father had brought him and Brandon into his solar. That was a different sort of conversation. It was natural for men to have certain desires, their father had explained, but he would not tolerate any upstart lords saying his daughter carried a Stark bastard. If you find you are in need of a woman’s company, he’d said, seek out a serving girl to romp with and when you are wed, look for your pleasures outside your home.</p><p>Brandon had taken those words too much to heart. In later years, Ned wondered what Rhaegar Targaryen had been taught and made sure his sons learned different lessons.</p><p>“No, Robb, hear this,” Ned insisted. “You must be gentle tonight.” His son looked at him wide eyed and embarrassed. “You will be her protector from this day on. And the fear you may feel, for the woman it is a hundredfold.”</p><p> “I am going to look for Uncle Benjen,” Jon said abruptly. “Good luck, Robb. I will see you in the godswood.”</p><p>Ned said nothing, and waited until Jon was out of the room. Perhaps it was not Ned’s place to discuss such things with him. It should fall to his father, one day. Or Lyanna. The thought of either of them approaching this topic worried him.</p><p>“I wouldn’t hurt a woman,” Robb protested, quietly, once they were alone.</p><p>“You would never hurt a woman out of anger or malice,” Ned agreed. “But you may her hurt without knowing, in your eagerness. I do not mean to accuse you.”</p><p>Robb fell silent. He was studying his hands.</p><p>“Would you like to ask me anything?” Ned asked.</p><p>Robb did not look up. “Sansa heard the maids talking…” He was hesitant, cautious. “They said things about the king…”</p><p>“Rhaegar? Which maids? Give me their names.”</p><p>It had been years since Ned had heard permitted gossip about the king in Winterfell. Jon’s visits had begun before he was old enough to understand what passed between his parents, and Ned could not have him hear it from some stableboy. The servants were chastened, each and every one of them, that if they were heard speaking of such matters in earshot of the children they would never again set foot in these halls.</p><p>Robb shook his head, “No, in Riverrun, the maids who came with them. It’s the old king I mean. They said… many things.” Robb sighed. “How the Mad King went to the Queen only when he… burned someone. And that the princess…” He looked up now, but did not meet Ned’s eyes as though ashamed to say it.</p><p>Ned felt as though his stomach had turned into a fist. He could not think of the flames today.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Robb said quickly.</p><p>“They say that the princess was born out of those couplings?” Ned asked.</p><p>Robb resumed biting his lip.</p><p>“All the more reason for kindness, tonight,” Ned made himself say, and he sounded more stern than he hoped to. “Sansa should not have repeated it, and neither should you.”</p><p>Robb nodded. Ned knew he must say something, should further reassure his son but the words were stuck in his throat.</p><p><em>It is Brandon who should be speaking to his sons on the eve of their wedding. It is Brandon who would know what to say, </em>he thought.</p><p>“There is plenty of horror to be learned of the King Aerys, if you seek it out. Do not look for it,” Ned finally said. “We should go. Your bride will be waiting.”</p><p>Robb tightened his grip on the wedding cloak. “I’m sorry, father,” He said again.</p><p>“Come.”</p><p>They went together to the godswood, as they had a hundred times before. They would emerge, forever bound to House Targaryen.</p><p><em>No, that isn’t true</em>, Ned reminded himself. The bond preceded that. The bond was sealed with Jon’s birth. And this was for him too; with Robb married to the king’s sister, Ned could more freely speak for Jon now if he had need.</p><p>It was a clear, cold evening, the woods illuminated by the stars and the glow of candles and torches. Snow at a wedding meant a cold marriage, but the godswood was warm tonight. The guests were assembled, and a hundred ravens watched from the trees as the sound of music drifted through the chestnuts and elms, carried through the night air like the steam rising off the hot pools.</p><p>He took the cloak from Robb, stood beside Catelyn and their children, and watched as his eldest son went to stand in front of the heart tree. Ned had wed in Riverrun’s sept, and he did not know if his gods had watched him then but he felt the shades of Brandon and their father all the same. <em>Do they watch now? Would they curse him?</em></p><p>Catelyn smiled, and wrapped her hands around his arm.</p><p>“Who comes before the gods?” Robb called out, his voice clear and bright.</p><p>The princess appeared through the trees, Arthur Dayne at her side.</p><p>Ned heard Sansa gasp beside him. Daenerys had her brother’s strange beauty though she did not seem so assured as the prince had in his youth. They lathered her in jewels, a satin dress finer than any the North had seen since the days when Queen Alysanne flew her dragon in the skies, and her wedding cloak but there was a wide-eyed wonder in her eyes that made her seem younger than her years. Ned recognized the look on her face; it was the same that he had seen on Cat, all those years ago, the fear of coming before a man and giving him every part of her, not knowing in her heart whether he would protect or harm her.</p><p>There would be no kin for her to share her fears with. Rhaegar and queen were in Riverrun, Prince Viserys in Dorne for his own wedding, and Prince Aegon playing at being a king in the capital. The girl was alone, save for Jon, and though Ned did not sense malice between them, there was no deep love either. <em>What sort of man would abandon his sister thus? </em>A king, for whom kin were no more than currency to barter with.</p><p>Ser Arthur answered Robb’s call. “Daenerys of House Targaryen comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and of royal blood, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?”</p><p>“Me,” Robb replied. “Robb of House Stark, heir to Winterfell. Who gives her?”</p><p>“Arthur of House Dayne and of the Kingsguard, the Sword of the Morning, and friend to King Rhaegar,” He turned to the princess. “Your grace, will you take this man?”</p><p>The princess looked forward at Robb. “I take this man,” she said.</p><p>Ser Arthur stepped back, and the princess walked to the heart tree. There was a shyness to Robb when he took her hand and they knelt before the heart tree, bowing their heads. The heart tree watched over them, and Ned looked into its red eyes.</p><p>He did not know what Robb or his bride thought in those moments, but Ned prayed. His prayers were wordless, but fire and flame flickered within them, Brandon and his father, and most of all Lyanna. Her son stood behind him with Benjen, and Ned suddenly wanted to turn around and to embrace him.</p><p>The moment was over quickly. Robb and Daenerys rose and Robb undid the Targaryen cloak from around his bride’s shoulders and handed it back to Ser Arthur. Ned stepped forward, and allowed his son to take the heavy white wool cloak of House Stark from his hands. Robb fastened it around the princess.</p><p>The music swelled again as Robb scooped his bride into his arms, and strode through the woods with her. The princess wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on tightly.</p><p>Ned and his family followed with Benjen and Jon, making for the great hall.</p><p>The hall was bright and loud tonight, filled with music and the chatter of the guests who had not fit in the godswood. They were packed together more tightly than at any harvest feast Ned ever hosted or attended; knights and lords sat knee to knee, serving girls squirming between them. Northern banners surrounded them and behind the dais, the direwolf of Winterfell hung alongside the Targaryen dragon for the first time.</p><p>The sight of it filled Ned with doubt.</p><p>He waited until Robb and Daenerys were seated at the high table and took her seat beside her. Under the table, Robb held his bride’s hand in his own. Ned had not been brave enough to do that at his own wedding feast; he had kissed Catelyn in the sept as hundreds of men watched, but he had not touched her again save for a single dance, and when they were in their bedchambers alone.</p><p>The guests took their places and Ned stood, and bid them drink to his son and the princess. Custom dictated he should announce that in their children, their two houses would become as one. But they had, in Jon, and he would not bruise his nephew so. Instead, he said, “The blessings of the gods upon you both. May you find comfort together in shared years of winter, as well as in the warmth of summer.”</p><p>Cheers rung out and Lord Velaryon stepped forward to serve the first of the food to the bride and groom. It was the king who had furnished the food and drink and it was kingly meal indeed; plate after plate of roasted duck, wild boar stew, honeyed quail, cream cakes, berry tarts, and Dornish plums and pomegranates flew out of the kitchen, an endless slew. The guests feasted on black stout and Dornish wines, charred beef ribs and mutton. Robb was courteous, as Ned and Catelyn had taught him to be; with each portion that was set in front of them, he cut the choice pieces and served them to the princess.</p><p>Arya played glumly with her food. She had been a terror since Ned chastised her for the matter in the Neck. Even as he tried to explain to her the wrong she had done, how her actions could have led to tragedy, she had countered each word with a thousand protestations, proclaiming her innocence, blaming the princess and Ser Arthur for spying on her, for not announcing themselves. In the end, he had ordered her to the godswood to cleanse herself but when she emerged, she was worse than before, locking herself in her room save for meals.</p><p>If their father had allowed it, Lyanna would have wielded a sword. Perhaps then, Ned had thought years ago, she would not have gone down the wayward path she had. Perhaps, if she felt as though that part of her was seen by her father, she would not have looked for affirmation in the eyes of those who should have been closed to her. And when Arya had begun to show that same anger, Ned had thought more freedom would have satisfied her. He could see now how that had only incensed the wildness in her.</p><p>Lyanna herself would be arriving within the fortnight, after the wedding festivities had concluded as was her way; <em>I still have my pride, Ned</em>, she’d said once, <em>and I have no tolerance for sneers and veiled </em>insults. Ned did not know whether her presence would bring joy to his youngest daughter or drive her even further astray.</p><p>He looked across the room now, and surveyed his daughters’ would be suitors.</p><p>As much as Sansa dreamt of knights and the pleasures of the south, it would be a Northerner she would wed. Telling her that news would be its own battle, one he was loath to fight soon. Her husband would never joust in a tourney with her favor wrapped around his arm, he would never crown her queen of love and beauty. He would find her someone honest and true but he would be of the North, and it would be work to convince her that was enough. It would be the next trial him and Catelyn would have to face together.</p><p>Arya… that was a harder choice. <em>Cley Cerwyn perhaps</em>, he thought now. The boy had come up to the dais to speak to Robb, and they laughed at some whispered jape together. Then, Arya could be nearby, would not have to feel as though her tether to Winterfell was severed. Even as he thought that, Ned knew it would not be enough to convince her.</p><p>She was pushing her plate away now, asking her mother if she might be excused. Ned turned away; he would beg Catelyn’s forgiveness later, but his head had started to pound and he could not withstand an argument now.</p><p>The music and revelry continued. After the pies were served, a call rang out for Robb to give his bride a kiss and the couple had obliged, exchanging a chaste kiss to raucous cheers.</p><p>“The bedding will follow soon,” Catelyn said. “I will take the children to bed.”</p><p>Ned thanked his wife and bid good night to his younger children. Only Sansa would remain to watch the bedding; it would be her first time staying at a wedding so late, but it would do her good to know what was in store for her. </p><p>It was then that Ned noticed Jon and Benjen had retreated to the side of the hall, and were having words. Ned could not hear them over the din of the hall but Benjen was troubled, frowning deeply, looking as tired and Ned felt.</p><p>When Ned approached, he could see Jon was in his cups. His nephew was sweating, pushing his black hair from his eyes with the back of his hand, holding a mug of beer.</p><p>They quieted once Ned was within hearing distance.</p><p>“The sight of Robb up there makes me feel like an old man,” Benjen said. He put a hand on Ned’s shoulder. “Congratulations, brother.”</p><p>Ned smiled, “Aye, I know the feeling well. Though Catelyn says we will never feel as old as when we have a grandchild in our arms.”</p><p>“And what a happy day that will be,” Benjen laughed. “It will come soon, I pray, and Jon and I will be here to share your joy in it. Is that not so, Jon?”</p><p>Jon wiped at his face once more. “Yes.”</p><p><em>Does the lad think of his own wedding feast, and if his father would similarly feast him? </em> There was an anger to him tonight, not unlike Arya’s.</p><p>Lyanna had spoken to him before of Rhaegar’s other son. Whatever existed between the king and Lyanna had ended with Jon’s birth. All those years ago, Rhaegar had promised her freedom in exchange for… Ned could not remember. For years Lyanna had said <em>love</em>, freedom in exchange for her love, but when later she insisted she could not remember ever having heard him saying that word. It was freedom he offered, though, and freedom she took without knowing the price. He had broken many promises to her and almost this, when he brought her to King’s Landing and she had to endure months in that cursed place. Jon’s birth bought her that freedom and in the end, it meant land and a home, more than a cottage but less than a holdfast, sheltered among the thorny trees of the kingswood.</p><p>In the years she lived there, only a few leagues from the Red Keep, she saw Rhaegar’s other son a handful of times. There was love between the siblings, though. When Jon was eight and sick with the redspots, the prince had come escorted by two Kingsguard so he may leave Jon a basket of his favorite things – blackberry oatcakes and a book on Daeron the Young Dragon. The prince had spoken to her only with courtesy and grace, Lyanna said, but once Jon’s visits to Winterfell began, it was only Robb he spoke of.</p><p>He was of age where boys wanted to be the quickest, the smartest, the strongest. He could not be so with Aegon; he would always have to be lesser than, to make himself small so his brother shone beside him. But he posed no threat to the heir to Winterfell. He would go home to Lyanna happily with stories, of Hullen saying he sat on a horse better than anyone in Winterfell or of besting Robb in their lessons. Perhaps they took something from Lyanna, each story, hearing those names, hearing of his adventures in the places she had explored with Benjen, or chased after Brandon, or learned with Ned. But for Jon, Winterfell held few ghosts.</p><p>Ned wondered if Jon looked at Robb with those same eyes now, comparing them, holding himself apart and unworthy.</p><p>“As we will share Jon’s happiness, when he has a son of his own,” Ned said, surveying his nephew.</p><p>Jon scowled and leaned against the wall, as though to steady himself, “I will never father a bastard,” he said.</p><p>Ned frowned, “You have had too much to drink, Jon. That is not my meaning.”</p><p>“You can wed, and have trueborn children,” Benjen said. “A Northern woman, perhaps, I see many a pretty girl here tonight.”</p><p>Ned had walked into an argument, he realized too late. Benjen was bargaining with their nephew, making promises that could not be kept – at least, not by them.</p><p>“I swear it before the gods, I will never marry,” Jon shook his head. “I will never have children.”</p><p>“You might not say that, if you knew what it meant,” Benjen said, quietly. “If you knew what such a vow might cost you, you might be less eager, son.”</p><p>“I’m not your son!” Jon spat it like venom.</p><p>The tables around them had fallen silent, and Robb was looking at them, concerned, from the high table. Tears welled up in Jon’s eyes.</p><p>“I must be excused,” He said, and bolted from the hall before any could stop him.</p><p>It would do no good to follow Jon. He was like Lyanna when her anger was upon him, all barbed words and hurt, and there was little anyone could do to calm them until it had passed.</p><p>“What’s happening, Ben?” Ned asked.</p><p>Benjen rubbed his face in his hands. “Let us speak of it later, Ned. Robb looks worried. Come, let us smile and feast for his sake.”</p><p>Ned did not have time to protest. A group of men began to bang their cups on the tables. They shouted, “To bed! To bed! To bed with them!” and were joined in their chorus by the other guests of the hall.</p><p>He returned to the table, where Robb and his bride both flushed, embarrassed.</p><p>Ned learned in to speak into the princess’ ears, “Your grace, are you ready to do your duty?”</p><p>The princess did not look afraid. A princess would not show her fear, after all. “Yes,” she replied. Ned looked to Robb, who nodded.</p><p>He stood. “My lords, it is time. Let us bed them.”</p><p>The hall roared in approval as the “The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown” began to ring out. The cry of “Bed them! Bed them!” went up and down the tables as the guests approached the dais. Lord Velaryon was first among them, clear eyed and sober, likely having been ordered by the king to ensure no liberties would be taken with the princess. The Karstark brothers surrounded the princess and lifted her into the air, whilst the Mormont women led the charge to pull Robb off the dais and begin tugging at his clothing. Robb was laughing, his hands going to the buttons on his tunic as though to speed their work and safeguard some of his dignity, until Maege Mormont swatted them away and called out loudly that he was an eager, green boy and had best learn to let a woman take charge.</p><p>They made faster work on the princess. She was smiling, but her shoes were off before she even left the dias, and by the time the men led her out of the Great Hall she was as naked as her nameday save for her jewels. To her credit, she resisted the urge to cover her breasts but at last Ser Arthur himself strode forward, parting the crowd, and carried the princess in his arms like she was little more than a rag doll, telling the men they had best look closely for they would never again in their lives look upon the princess so. Even the Sword of the Morning was no match for a score of drunk Northerners, their blood running hot, and the Greatjon countered loudly that each time he closed his eyes, he would imagine the pretty sight of Targaryen teats.</p><p>The hall was emptied within minutes. Those who did not join the bedding had taken the merriment outside, where by the sounds of it some men had begun to wrestle and take bets on the victor. For many, including his son, the night was just beginning. For Ned, thank the gods, it was over at last.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello again everyone! I had this week off so I was able to get out two chapters (although this one is on the shorter side) but I will be back to weekly updates for a while.</p><p>Thank you to everyone for your feedback. I know people have been anxious to spend more time with Rhaenys and meet Elia, for good reason. For now, the action of the story will be led by what is happening with Dany/Robb and then fan out to include other characters. Lyanna will be first up next chapter. This chapter was a bittersweet to write and a bit self indulgent; I wanted to give Robb and Ned something they never got in canon.</p><p>Thank you again to everyone who has been reading and following along. Your responses have been really encouraging and inspiring.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Daenerys V/Ned II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ghosts of all sorts</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The chapter begins with references and descriptions of a wedding night. As stated before, characters are aged up so Dany and Robb are not underage here. The descriptions in my opinion are not explicit, but if that makes you uncomfortable you can skip ahead to the Ned section &amp; in the comments, I can give a general gist of the relevance of the section.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>DAENERYS</p><p>Through her wedding Daenerys felt beyond her own body, flying over everyone, watching herself as she was dressed, walking with Ser Arthur to the godswood, kneeling in front of its frightening red face and carried out in Robb’s arms as his wife.</p><p>As a girl, her dreams of her wedding were as her fantasies of her husband; unclear, with undefined faces and shapes, leaving behind only the feeling of it. On the day, she had felt nothing, not even fear, just a stillness as she passed through each stage of it and sat at the feast beside her husband. Some things stood out, even in the muddle of it. He held her hand and it was as sweaty as her own. And they had kissed for the first time, to cheers and shouts. And the call for the bedding, of course she remembered that, forever would, being pulled down from the dais, her feet moving unbidden, as she was stripped down to her skin by what felt like a hundred of hands, until Ser Arthur came forward and carried her out of the crowd. Even then, he had not deprived them of their sport; the men followed them through the halls, joking and laughing, and the knight had parried each of their words as she smiled stupidly in his arms.</p><p>In the Neck, the king’s knights had sought to kill a child in defense of her. And yet here, within Winterfell’s walls, they joined in, touching her body when during the day, they did not dare even to look her in the eyes.</p><p>In her bed, there was something that was not love, nor passion, but a middle ground, a space of peace.</p><p>She was not ashamed, when the ladies brought Robb Stark in naked, laughing and joking, nor when he lifted up his eyes and looked upon her own nakedness. It was as though she was with Rhaenys once again, holding the dragon egg in her hands, leaving her fear behind. And it was he who was all blushes and nervous smiles. When he touched her, he did so with a hundred mumbled questions: <em>am I hurting you? Shall I stop? May I touch you here? May I kiss you here?</em>  Perhaps he had never known a woman before, not like this.</p><p>It was a strange, unfamiliar thing for her to be so close to a man, when only a few weeks prior she was not even to be alone in a room with one. It was a marvel to see him naked before her, but she was dazzled even by the simple things; the curves of his back where she wrapped her arms and touched the softness of his skin, the auburn hair on his chest, the way the smell of him lingered on her.</p><p>He stayed in her bed all night, though they did not touch or hold each other as they slept. And yet, she dreamt good dreams. In them, she sailed across the Narrow Sea and its vast horizons, smelling the sharp salt of the air, listening to the songs and the stories of the sailors. Dolphins swam against the side of the ship and sliced the waves, and every once in a while, she even saw flying fish. On the sea, she felt small but free.</p><p>She woke to the strangeness of her rooms and to the sight of her still sleeping husband, sprawled on his back beside her. The blankets had been kicked to the floor long ago.</p><p>Her chambers were smaller than the rooms she kept at Dragonstone but just as warm, with the same heat emanating from the stones. On the walls, alongside tapestries of the Starks’ grey direwolf was the Targaryen dragon, and her dressing room was filled with her gowns and jewels. And yet, beyond the shutters, it was not the Narrow Sea that she faced but grey towers and yards full of the chatter and men and beyond, the endless forest they called the wolfswood. Even if she closed her eyes, she could not pretend to be back home; the very smell here was different, not the salt and smoke of the island, but the crispness of trees and green and cold air.</p><p>After some time, Robb stirred beside her, bringing his hands up to rub his eyes as a child might. It took him a moment to register his surroundings as well, and when he saw her naked body he looked away as though by instinct. And then, remembering, he made himself look at her.</p><p>“Have you been awake long?” He asked, his voice thick with sleep.</p><p>“Only for a few moments. It is early yet, no one has been in to tend to the fire,” She replied. A dim light entered through the window, and the keep was quiet without. The fire was down to its embers now but she did not mind; last night as it raged, their bodies had felt sticky and hot.</p><p>“Are you well? Shall I send for anything for you?” He sat up, and looked at her with thinly veiled concern in her eyes, and if he felt shy to sit so, naked before her, he hid that shame better.</p><p>“I am well, I do not lack for anything.” There had been a pain yesterday, but it had eased and the soreness felt only slight now. “Thank you for your patience. At times I thought they might break the door down.” Their wedding guests had waited beyond, singing bawdy songs, making jokes, providing suggestions and waiting until the deed was done so they may return to the hall and celebrate the consummation. The clamor had ended only when Robb shouted through the door that the deed was done, the sheets were stained, and they should take their drunkenness elsewhere so as not to disturb his bride’s sleep. A few stubborn men lingered, continuing their ribald revelry, but eventually they had gone too, and left her and Robb to silence and sleep.</p><p>“As did I. I know weddings make men’s blood run hot, but it was the women who shocked me, truly. I do not think I will ever forget what Lady Leona Woolfield said as they undressed me, or be bold enough to repeat it.” The memory seemed to amuse him.</p><p>Daenerys gave words to her thoughts. “And when you see the Lady Leona next, she will call you my lord and bow her head as though nothing transpired.”</p><p>“Aye, as will they all,” Robb’s smile was rueful as he spoke, but guarded too, as all his smiles were, as though they were some currency too precious to him to be meted out to her freely.</p><p>He sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed, stretching his arms and the muscles of his back.</p><p>This man she had married was proud. He had held himself away from her when they met, and as she thought of it now, now that she had laid with him and shared parts of herself with him no one would even know, she knew it was grief for the kin he had never met but also a stubbornness, a need not to be seen as having been cowed by a princess, as though her beauty or her nobility might somehow wash away injustice. She knew that because he had thawed since, and treated her with a kindness which extended beyond duty.</p><p>He would not be as eager as Edmure Tully, happy to love and be loved, a man whose family had emerged from it all unscathed, with sisters now ladies of great houses and a son married to a princess, the king’s favored child. And yet, Robb had also not been the sort of man to take what he wished or what he felt was due to him by force. When the door was shut behind them, he could have done as he wanted to her in the darkness, and none would have stopped him. But, instead, he attended to her with kindness and some concern for her own pleasure too, clumsy as it was.</p><p>She suspected their marriage would be tenuous, and hard, full of missteps.</p><p>Robb walked across the room to the basin, sluiced the water over his hair and face and rubbed it on his neck, readying himself to leave.</p><p>Suddenly, the fear crept back in. She did not wish to be alone, not now, when she had been so strong. When they were toegther, she thought of him and of her. Alone, a thousand more doubts would flood her mind. She could not keep it intact, if he left her here in the bed where her maidenhead still stained the sheets.</p><p>“Are you to leave so early?” She found herself asking, in a voice that did not seem her own.</p><p>He turned to her, and understood her meaning immediately. “Shall I stay?” Water dripped from his head.</p><p>Daenerys nodded and he returned to her arms once again.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p>NED</p><p>
  <em>A FORTNIGHT LATER</em>
</p><p>Lyanna was worry brought to form.</p><p>She came with little fanfare, as was her way, riding in with her guardsmen and greeted at the gates by Ser Rodrik alone, who took her to the crypts where Ned was to meet her.</p><p>It was five years after Jon’s birth that she finally returned to Winterfell, and it had been a difficult visit, full of grief and anger and the spilling of secrets. She had told him of how Rhaegar had spoken to her of dreams that haunted him, beautiful and terrible all. And how then she had been glad not to be troubled with similar visions and yet, after the deaths of father and Brandon, she found herself wishing they would appear to her, to speak to her once more. She was starting to forget what they looked like, she’d admitted, and even as she stood in the crypts with Ned, staring at their likeness, she had not been sated. Within Winterfell’s walls, Lyanna thought they would return to her, as specters or visions, but they had not. <em>Let them rest</em>, he had entreated her, but it had been a hard thing for her all the same.</p><p>She returned a few times after that, though she more often than not sent Jon alone; the longest visit was a year, the shortest six months. That was the way of things, when boys became men and home began to feel like a small place, like a prison that kept them from becoming who they wished to be. Lyanna did not raise Jon to cling to her skirts; the world had little kindness for baseborn boys, and outside the retreat his father had built for them in the kingswood, men would taunt him and call him dragonseed. He had been taught how to fight with steel, but there was no one who might protect him from the venom of words. In Winterfell at least, Ned could give him a reprieve.</p><p>It had been too long since Ned went to the crypts. He descended the winding stone steps alone with a lantern as the chill rose up the stairs. Shadows lurched and moved around him when he reached the bottom and watched while he marched through the procession of granite pillars.</p><p>Lyanna stood alone in front of their father’s tomb.</p><p>For Robert, Lyanna was forever the woman child he desired and yearned to make his wife. The thought of Robert filled him with anger and grief he could not bear now. But Ned, he would always remember Lyanna thus; as a woman with their mother’s smile, and the same eyes she had given a son she raised alone, standing by the tombs of father and Brandon.</p><p>“How was the journey?” He asked, and his voice seemed a most unwelcome sound here.</p><p>Lyanna turned around as though startled. When she saw him, she smiled. “Ned.”</p><p>He stepped forward, and embraced his sister warmly.</p><p>“You look well, Lya,” He said. She looked the same as when he last saw her, two years past, her face always flushed as though she had just returned from a ride, her hair tied back in a single braid.</p><p>“As do you,” She replied. “I saw Sansa briefly by the stables. I could hardly believe my eyes… She’s a woman ground now.”</p><p>Ned frowned, “Almost. You sound like one of my bannermen putting forward their sons.”</p><p>Lyanna squeezed his hands and pulled back. “I suppose it’s incessant, isn’t it?” </p><p>“Incessant is the word for it.”</p><p>“And what of little Arya?”</p><p>“Not so little anymore. I could tell you of all the terrors she has wrought, and you would wave them away and say she is no worse than you were.”</p><p>Lyanna could not deny that, though her smile was sad. “When she is grown and wed and lady of some faraway castle, she will think back and love you all the more for letting her be a child.”</p><p>She took the position of her vigil once more, this time at Brandon’s tomb. Ned stared at his father’s long, stern face. The stonemason had known him well. He sat with quiet dignity, stone fingers holding tight to the sword across his lap. In life all swords had failed him.</p><p>“I believe congratulations are in order,” She did not look at him as she said it. “I hope Robb’s marriage is a happy one, truly.”</p><p>“As do I.”</p><p>“And his bride? How do you find her?”</p><p>Ned paused, the better to think on the question. He saw the princess infrequently, save for meal times; it was Catelyn who spent the most time in her company, teaching her the things she would need to know when the time came to stand beside Robb as he ruled Winterfell. Ned glanced down at the empty sepulchers, where he knew he would one day be laid to rest and Robb would follow. “There was some unpleasantness on our journey, but she behaved with kindness. I know her little. She is cautious around me in her words and deeds though courteous with us all, including Jon.”</p><p>“Would you believe I saw her once?” Lyanna asked. That took Ned by surprise. “I had forgotten, until you wrote to me to tell me she was to wed Robb. She will not remember and no one will have told her. The king mourned his mother still, and had his sister brought to King’s Landing. He put her in the cradle beside Jon and called her Stormborn, for the storm and chaos which raged as she came into the world. But he sent her back to Dragosntone within the month,” Lyanna frowned at some part of that memory. “And now we meet again, and perhaps when I come next, I will hold her child.”</p><p>Ned had heard the ugly and strange tales told of every great lord in the realm, of his own bannermen, but he never found himself so puzzled or so wary as when he heard stories of Rhaegar. He had run out of words to say of him years ago.</p><p>“And my son?” She turned to face him now. “It worries me to find Ser Arthur here with him.”</p><p>Ned had found that a touch queer himself, though he believed it to be an honor the king granted his sister, in his own absence. The knight lingered however, and showed no signs of preparing to depart with the Velaryons and ships from the king’s fleet. He spent his days in the yard alongside Ser Rodrik, training the young men at their drills, Robb and Jon among them and when he unsheathed Dawn, there were a hundred craning necks gathered around them, watching in awe. Once, Lyanna had spat his name and cursed him as her captor, and years ago, when the king sent Jon and the knight to Dorne, to see after a portion of his training, they had gotten close to disaster. His sister danced around the full truth of it, but Ned knew she had quarreled with the king, and both made threats which in the end, they did not have to hold to.</p><p>“Jon…” Ned sighed. “He is not himself. He argued with Ben, who left soon after to take fresh mounts to a group of new recruits coming up the kingsroad, and said he would return when you arrived. Jon will not speak of it and I have had little time to wheedle it out of him.”</p><p>It did not seem to surprise Lyanna. She sighed, as though to exhale was to send her worries out of her body.</p><p>“I have been here an hour, and already poured out all of my troubles to you,” Lyanna gave him a half smile, which did not reach her eyes. “I want to hear of all that has passed for you, and Cat and the children. It has been too long since I have seen you all. I have missed you.”</p><p>She reached out now to hold his hand, and though the memory was dim, and from another time, Ned could remember what it had been like to be a child, to hold his sister’s hand for comfort and friendship as she dragged him around Winterfell to show him all the things he had missed away.</p><p>“I will tell you all you want to know once we are standing under the sun,” He replied. “Come, Lya.”</p><p>He led her out of the halls of the dead, and out to the fresh, cold air where Jon and his wolf stood waiting. Lyanna looked back over her shoulder, down to the dark and the ghosts which lingered there, more than once.</p><p>Though the difference in age between them was no more than half a year, Jon had always been more independent than Robb; Robb had been easier to cry as a child, faster to call for help when he was unable to finish a task on his own or when something discomforted him. And even now, though a man wedded, Ned thought that Robb would have embraced his mother after a long absence; Jon, however, held himself apart. He smiled, as he had not done for weeks, and kissed her on both cheeks but did not allow her any gestures of affection.</p><p>Lyanna was undeterred. She rolled her eyes, mussed his hair, and wrapped her arm around him. Jon reddened, but his smile grew wider.</p><p>“I have missed you, Jon,” She said. Ghost whined, as though jealous for her attention, and received a pat on the head in exchange. “All this time, and I have only received a handful of letters from you.”</p><p>Jon looked at his boots, chastened, “Only because I knew I would be seeing you soon.”</p><p>“And now that we are together, you will tell me anything I wish to know?” Lyanna asked, teasing.</p><p>Jon chose not to respond to that, but Lyanna only laughed.</p><p>Not for the first time, Ned wished that Lyanna and Jon lived with them, that they had been able to live as a true family in Winterfell. Lyanna had not wanted it, for a hundred and one reasons, some valid and others less so. He had accepted them all, even those he was not convinced by, and it had not been discussed again, for nigh on nineteen years although he continued to nurse that hope in his heart. But, as he stood watching his sister and his nephew, he knew the time for it had passed.</p><p>“Once the children see you, you will have more than an earful of news,” Ned interjected.</p><p>“I can hardly wait,” Lyanna responded.</p><p>They walked on, Ned and Ghost following behind. Men and women from the household, some of whom had known Lyanna since she was a child, others who knew her only from rumors, greeted them as they went by. Lyanna gave them a nod of the head, or raised her hand in acknowledgement, but otherwise had her head bowed, in quiet conversation with Jon.</p><p>Ned heard only snippets.</p><p>“How was your father?”</p><p>“He was very kind.”</p><p>“Truly?”</p><p>“Yes. He brought me a new saddle for my horse.”</p><p>“That’s nice, Jon. And your sister, she is well?”</p><p>“Yes, and her daughter too.” Jon corrected himself, “My niece, Betha. I held her.”</p><p>“What does she look like?”</p><p>“She has black hair and brown eyes. Rhaenys showed me how to hold her. She fit right into the crook of my arm. My father said she is the image of Rhaenys at that age, save for the eyes.”</p><p>Lyanna put her hand on her son’s back, and said nothing.</p><p>It was a better fate than other baseborn child, but Jon had known no other life than this, this suspension between mother and father and father’s kin.</p><p>The family awaited them in the solar, the meal already laid out on the table,  and when they arrived, Catelyn stepped forward first and was warmly embraced by Lyanna. The children waited their turn, visibly excited with smiles stretching to their ears, with only Robb and his princess stood apart.</p><p>“Cat!”</p><p>“It has been too long,” Lady Catelyn said. They held each other’s arms for a beat, surveying one another, measuring perhaps what the passage of time had rendered.</p><p>A hundred years ago, Ned and his wife had fought over Lyanna. It preceded her first visit to Winterfell and Cat, had delicately, politely, quietly, asked whether it was wise to have her in the company of their daughters, when they were approaching an age where they could understand what it meant for a lady to have a child and not a husband. They had fought, as they never had before, and never spoken of it again. Since then, Catelyn had behaved towards Lyanna with a warmth beyond courtesy on her visits.</p><p>“And what a happy greeting,” Lyanna replied. She bowed her head to Daenerys. The princess did not strike Ned as overly vain, but she had clung dearly to the honors of her rank. “You are a most beautiful bride, your grace. I hope to have the honor of calling you niece, now that you are wedded to my nephew.”</p><p>Ned might have smiled at that. For all that was said of his sister, none could accuse her of not having been born a lady. The princess’ face betrayed nothing, neither curiosity nor shock.</p><p>“Thank you, my lady,” Daenerys replied. “I am pleased to greet you as kin twice over.”</p><p>The compliment was meant to touch him too, but Jon did not visibly react. Robb, however, had watched his wife as she spoke and seemed relieved by her courtesy.</p><p>The rest of the children were greeted with embraces and kisses, Arya and Rickon falling into them quicker and with more warmth than the others, his two wild children who shared a common spirit in their aunt.</p><p>They spoke loudly and often as they ate, each of the children jostling over the others for their opportunity to speak to their aunt, to share with her all they had done and seen since she was last in their lives.</p><p>Sansa talked of the beauty of Riverrun, which she had not seen since she was a young child, of the ladies’ dresses and the way they had worn their hair. Arya’s story were all mud and mess; she left out the disaster in the Neck, and told only of swimming in the river, and collecting rocks from the bottom, and getting an itchy rash from some plants she had waded through on the riverbank. Rickon spoke of his wolf, the aptly named Shaggydog, and Bran’s words, as his dreams, were filled with knights.</p><p>“I’m going to be a knight of the Kingsguard,” He excitedly announced. “Like Ser Arthur, though I do not have a magical sword. But Maester Luwin says you don’t need one. He says to be a knight I must always do my drills and listen to Ser Rodrik. And that I would have to vow to be brave, and just, and to always protect the innocent.”</p><p>“You ought to try to do all of those things now, for practice,” Lyanna suggested.</p><p>Bran nodded, “I do try. It will not be easy, Jon said. He told me Prince Aegon walked barefoot to the Great Sept of Baelor and kept vigil all night there, though his feet were bleeding. And in the morning, he was knighted by the king and anointed by the High Septon. I should like to do that, one day.”</p><p>Had Ned ever been as innocent as Bran when he was a boy? He could hardly remember.</p><p>Lyanna smiled, “Well, the sept in Winterfell isn’t as far as all that. So at least you will not have to worry about aching feet.”</p><p>Bran laughed, and Lyanna could not resist squeezing his cheek. That only made him laugh harder as he swatted away at her hand.</p><p>It was a wonderful afternoon, and over too soon.</p><p>Benjen arrived only when the food was cleared, and none were left save for Lyanna and Jon. Ned himself was readying to leave, and let mother and son speak alone, but something in Ben’s manner made him wary. He greeted their sister with warmth and happiness, but something unspoken and full of anger passed in a look shared between him and Jon.</p><p>Lyanna caught it too. She was only patient enough to exchange pleasantries with Ben for a moment or two.</p><p>“Which of you is planning on speaking first?” She asked.</p><p>Ben glanced at Jon, and frowned. “I return to the Wall in a week. And Jon says he will be coming with me.”</p><p>Lyanna’s anger had always filled any room she was in; even as a girl, even if she sat perfectly still and held her face without expression, the anger would evaporate off her and envelop the space and the people in it, like stream rising from boiling water. To his credit, Jon met it without shying away, looking directly at his mother.</p><p>“For a pleasant visit?” Lyanna asked, speaking still only to Ben. “Or for some other purpose?”</p><p>“To take my vows,” Jon said, his voice grave.</p><p>How had Ned not seen it? The conversation at the wedding. The lingering presence of Ser Arthur. And his nephew’s manner. He felt foolish and selfish and blind all at once. He had been too full of worries of his own son, doubts which seemed frivolous now; Robb spent his nights abide with his princess and would soon, gods willing, have a son of his own to raise and fret over. He would remain forever in the only home he had known.</p><p>And Jon… the thought was hard to bear.</p><p>In Lyanna’s voice was fury.</p><p>“Is this your father’s will?”</p><p>Jon frowned, and there was an anger to him too. “How can you ask that?”</p><p>“I ask that because I know him.”</p><p>“My decision grieved him,” Jon replied. “He gave me his permission, but he said he did so only with a heavy heart.”</p><p>Lyanna grimaced, “<em>A heavy heart</em>? Are you so naïve as that? If he did not order it, then who was it that nursed that idea in your head and in your heart?”</p><p>“It is my desire and mine alone,” Jon countered. He drew himself up now, as though to show the man he had become, but all that filled Ned’s mind now was the boy he still was, and all the parts of him that would wither and die from life on the Wall. He thought of the Benjen, and the guilt and grief that had driven him to the decision, and the person he had become there, harsher and colder. “I will leave with Uncle Benjen and my honor guard,” He continued, and even he was not reckless enough now to say to his mother, <em>and there is nothing you can do to stop me.</em></p><p>“Honor guard?” Lyanna’s fingers dug into her chair and for a moment, Ned thought to go to her and take her hands in his. Yet, what comfort could anyone offer her now? “Do you mean rapists and murderers your father has cleared from the dungeons of King’s Landing?”</p><p>“No,” Jon objected, “True knights, kin to lords.”</p><p>The party which had escorted the princess from Riverrun, Ned realized. They had lingered on too. This thing, he realized, it had been months in the making. Jon was not amenable to deception. It was the king’s doing, it must have been; perhaps he thought Ned would be mad enough to break the betrothal if he learned of the news before Robb and Daenerys were wedded and bedded. Ned would not have; it would have been madness to. Despite Ned’s love for Jon, he had no right to protest the decisions he and his father took, no matter how much they grieved him.</p><p>Perhaps the king had concealed it so as not to trouble himself with more difficult conversations. He was a world away now, and had left Jon alone to face it.</p><p>“What of Oldtown, Jon?” Ned found his voice. “You were there before you journeyed to Riverrun. Did you not find it to your liking?”</p><p>“I will not live my life in servitude,” Jon said, hotly.</p><p>Benjen finally spoke. Did his throat tighten, as Ned’s had? “And what do you think life on the Wall is, if not servitude?”</p><p>“As a man of the Night’s Watch I would serve the North and the realm, not some lord in his castle,” Jon countered, quickly. His face was flushed with anger. He was well-prepared for this fight.</p><p>Lyanna was quiet.</p><p>“There are other paths,” Ned filled the silence. Jon may have thought his mind made up, but no harm would be done until he took those vows. “There will always be a place for you here in Winterfell. You could stay here for as long as you wish and when you are older, I would have you as part of my council’s and one day, Robb’s.”</p><p>Jon softened at that. Some of the tension seemed to leave his face. “Thank you, uncle. But I cannot.”</p><p>Lyanna, however, did not. She pushed her chair back from the table and rose to stand over her son. “Cannot or will not?”</p><p>There was quiet for a moment, save for the raging storm of Lyanna’s anger. Ned did not know who he felt more sorry for.</p><p>“I will not,” Jon said, finally, softly.</p><p>Lyanna drew herself back and, Ned did not know what she would do. Scream? Shout? Strike her son? But she only pulled back, looked at Jon, and left the room, the door slamming behind her.</p><p>None of them moved to follow her. Doubtless she would go to the stables for her horse and go for a ride, and when she returned Ned would meet her at the gates and speak to her.</p><p>“You will break your mother’s heart if you do this,” Benjen said, weary.</p><p>It was not only Lyanna’s heart which would break. Ben’s had already, Ned could see that, and his own would too. And the children… None among them would not be saddened to see Jon leave, but for Robb and Arya it would be a dear pain. Robb, perhaps, in time would understand but Arya…</p><p>“Why not postpone it and leave the decision for your next visit?” Ned said. “And if your feelings have not changed then, I will take you to the Wall myself.”</p><p>“What will have changed in a year?” Jon asked, and he Rhaegar’s son now, weighted down by grief. “Will I wake up to find myself no longer the king’s bastard?”</p><p>Hearing Jon say that word was always like a knife, cutting.</p><p>None of them were in need of a maester’s lesson. They knew well enough how history was bloody with the treachery of Targaryen bastards. Jon’s birth had undoubtedly brought that distrust into King’s Landing and the hearts of the royal family. </p><p>“Is there something you fear, Jon? Has someone said something to make you uneasy?” Ned asked, carefully, measuring each word carefully for he walked close to treason.</p><p>Was this how Rhaegar weighed it? The claim of his trueborn son, against the life of his bastard? What would Ned do, if he to make the choice between one son and another? He hoped he would never know.</p><p>On the Wall, Jon was a threat to no one. <em>And, no one could be a threat to him</em>. Is that how the king would live with it?</p><p>Jon only shook his head.</p><p>“The Wall is not Winterfell, nor is it King’s Landing, or your mother’s home,” Ben told him, sternly. “On the Wall, a man gets only what he earns and puts aside his old family. And for all you feel your life has been tragic hardship lived in the company of kings and lords and princes, that is something you cannot understand.” </p><p>“Forgive me, but I have made my decision. We will ride with your party in a week, Uncle Ben, and if you will not have me then I will journey with Ser Arthur and my father’s knights alone and we will meet as brothers on the Wall,” Jon’s nostrils flared. “Forgive me,” he repeated, and followed his mother’s footsteps, out of the door. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>•	I’m sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out. I was feeling under the weather and it took me a while to get to a place where I could write again. Thank you to everyone who has kudo’d, commented, subscribed and read this story. Writing used to be a really big part of my life and it has been really nice and restorative to get back into it, and I’m grateful to everyone who has responded to it.<br/>•	Re: this AU. This is not going to be a straight up fix-it. Bad things will still happen, because Westeros is not an easy place to live and all the more when there is a creeping White Walker apocalypse. However, certain things are very much improved for our characters – for example though their marriage is not/will not be uncomplicated, married to Robb, Dany will not be subjected to the rape she was in canon; due to the political situation in this fic, the Starks will not be getting involved in King’s Landing politics in the deadly way Ned did, etc.<br/>•	We finally see a bit of Lyanna. I know Rhaegar/Lyanna is quite divisive and it may lead to heated conversations. I will say that this is 20 years out of their relationship, and my intention with this fic isn’t to necessarily rehash that, but try to show some of the possible consequences of it – in this case, as it effects Jon. 20 years later, and after seeing each other many times in the intervening years, the first thing Ned &amp; Lyanna are going to talk about isn’t what happened in the tower. That generation is also just loaded with trauma… We see it a bit here where Ned represses his thoughts about Robert, which I’m keeping deliberately vague for now.<br/>•	Finally, because I've gone on for way too long here, this story will be longer than I planned because of how much more time I am spending on character exploration although the plot is all mapped out and will not be changing. I've increased the chapter count for now.<br/>•	Next up: aunt and nephew bonding (?). We will get to see a ton of Jon, who has been really going through it and who we haven't gotten much one on one time with. It has been asked in the comments so I will clarify again that Jon/Dany will not be romantic.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Jon I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A hero's journey begins</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>How many times had he wished to have been born a brother to Robb? The dream of it was unspoken, and even to touch the edges of it filled his heart with guilt and treason. It was not that Aegon was cruel or unloving. He and Aegon had been in Rhaenys’ shadow, who even as a girl was all laughter and boldness and charm, and Jon’s memories were of his brother’s hand in his own, of stumbling and running and riding and falling behind of their sister. He did not forget himself for a moment, even as a child; the difference between him and his brother was too clear, writ on Aegon’s face, purple-eyed and silver-haired and everything Jon was not, and in the sight of the Kingsguard, there to protect Aegon and not him. <em>There to protect Aegon from him. </em></p><p>Things had changed and Jon had not known why. What had been an easy love between him and his brother was something like a bog now, full of dangerous and unseen things, and places a mislaid step would lead to disaster. Jon’s quiet brother had grown into a man with a quick wit and a sharp tongue, who laid traps with his words. And for his part, Jon was in Winterfell more often than not. When he finally told Aegon he was to join the Night’s Watch, his brother had seemed relieved.  They embraced each other and Aegon graced him with well wishes, but a weight seemed lifted from the prince’s shoulders. It was as though he stood taller after, or could breathe easier. “For the realm,” he had whispered, when they finally parted.</p><p>If Rhaenys felt similarly, she had been kind enough to hide it. When he bid her farewell, she had promised to always speak to her daughter of her Uncle Jon. He did not know why that had touched him so.</p><p>It was altogether different with Robb.</p><p>They met in Robb’s rooms later that day. Grey Wind lay on the rug on the floor, and lifted his ears up in lazy greeting.</p><p>“I will not try to talk you out of it,” Robb said. “I am certain you have had plenty of that.”</p><p>“I have.”</p><p>“Only… I wish you had told me. Not for me to change your mind, but so you would not have had to carry this alone. I suspect now you have thought on it for long, before we journeyed from Riverrun. If you had told me…” Robb hesitated and changed course. “Well, I suppose it would not have mattered. I know you will rise high there. Gods know you have bested me more than a few times.” Robb smiled wryly. “I do not suppose you will do worse among the men of the Watch.”</p><p>Jon smiled, “One day, I will be Lord Commander and it will be for me to keep you safe.”</p><p>“I do not doubt it.”</p><p>“So you might as well take up needlework with the girls now and have Mikken melt down your sword for horseshoes,” He added with a grin.</p><p>Robb laughed, dimpled and true.</p><p>“My father wishes to resettle the Gift some day, a task that may fall to me. I should like to see it,” Robb said, once he regained himself. “I would ride out with you, if you’ll have me.”</p><p>Jon was at a loss for words. “To the Wall?”</p><p>“Yes. The last Stark to visit was Uncle Ben, when he took his vows. And before that, not even our grandfather ever went. We are past due to lay eyes on it again.”</p><p>It was a ruse, Jon knew, an excuse so he might go with him… but Jon loved him for it all the same.</p><p>“You have not been wed a full month yet.”</p><p>Robb shrugged, “My wife tells me you have Targaryen kin on the wall, a brother to Aegon the Unlikely, who she is eager to meet. And I promised her a tour of the North.”</p><p>Surely his intentions were to take her to White Harbor or the Barrowlands perhaps. The Wall was no place for a woman. And yet… who was he to say where the heir to Winterfell and his wife may or may not go? And how sweet would it be, he thought, to stand side by side with Robb and look out past the edge of the world?</p><p>“If you are certain, it would please me to have you.” He added wistfully, “It shall be as one last adventure.”</p><p>Robb put his hand on his shoulder, “No, cousin, it shall be the first of many.”</p><p>--</p><p>Jon did not speak to his mother that night. It was cowardly, perhaps, that he did not seek her out and though it may have been that, and selfish and childish, a part of him wished she would be the one to come to him with comfort, to ease his fears and give him courage.</p><p>That night, Ghost crawled into bed with him. Jon lay fitfully and fell asleep only the hour of the wolf had already crept upon him. When he woke, it was past noon; he readied himself, and let his feet guide him to his next task, Ghost at his heels and a package in his hands.</p><p>Arya was in her room. It had pleased him to see her joy on the road, the easy way she had taken to their companions, riding her horse madly between them, up and down the line, shouting out greetings and making fast friends wherever she went. Since their arrival to Winterfell, she seemed eternally to be under punishment for bad behavior, either at the hands of Septa Mordane or Uncle Ned. While her father more often than not sent her to the godswood to pray and repent, the Septa had taken to ordering her to her rooms to read from the Maiden’s book.</p><p>Today, she was perched at the window, looking out past the shutters and with one hand, lazily scratching behind her wolf’s ear. Nymeria smelled Ghost, sat down on her haunches and yelped at them.</p><p>Arya jumped down from the windowsill and threw her arms tight around his neck.</p><p>“I wanted to look for you,” she said, “But my father said to let you be and Septa Mordane wouldn’t let me out.”</p><p>So she knew. Jon was relieved; he did not want to have to explain.</p><p>“What did you do now?” Jon was amused.</p><p>Arya disentangled herself from him. “Nothing. My stitches were crooked again. Septa Mordane said I had to do it all over. The princess can do it perfectly without looking, she said,” Arya shrugged. “So I told her, let us fetch a handkerchief, bind her eyes, and let her try.”</p><p>And likely stormed out of the room after.</p><p>“And what did her grace have to say?”</p><p>Arya made a face. “She wasn’t there. And what does it matter anyway? Septa Mordane says a husband will expect his wife to excel at all things. But it’s not true. I asked Robb if he cares about the princess’ embroidery and he just laughed.”</p><p>Jon smiled. He could not imagine that held a space among Robb's concerns regarding his bride.</p><p>“It’s just as well. I have something for you, and I would have you keep it a secret from your septa.”</p><p>Her face lit up. “A present?”</p><p>“You could call it that. Close the door.”</p><p>Wary but excited, Arya checked the hall. “Nymeria, here. Guard.” She left the wolf out there to warn of intruders and closed the door. By then Jon had pulled off the rags he’d wrapped it in. He held it out to her.</p><p>Arya’s eyes went wide. Dark eyes, like his. “A sword,” she said in a small, hushed breath.</p><p>Though Jon had defended her to his uncle, he was not blind enough to think that what she had done on the Neck was anything but folly. If the Princess Daenerys had been a different sort of woman, it would have ended in bloodshed. But Jon knew Arya would not change. Better to defend herself with a weapon she could manage, than leave her to more dangerous games.</p><p>The scabbard was soft grey leather, supple as sin. Jon drew out the blade slowly, so she could see the deep blue sheen of the steel. “This is no toy,” he told her. “Be careful you don’t cut yourself. The edges are sharp enough to shave with.”</p><p>“Girls don’t shave,” Arya said.</p><p>“Maybe they should. Have you ever seen the septa’s legs?”</p><p>She giggled at him. “It’s so skinny.”</p><p>“So are you,” Jon told her. “I had Mikken make this special, The bravos use swords like this in Pentos and Myr and the other Free Cities. It won’t hack a man’s head off, but it can poke him full of holes if you’re fast enough.”</p><p>“I can be fast,” Arya said.</p><p>“You’ll have to work at it every day.” He put the sword in her hands, showed her how to hold it, and stepped back. “How does it feel? Do you like the balance?”</p><p>“I think so,” Arya said.</p><p>“First lesson,” Jon said. “Stick them with the pointy end.”</p><p>Arya gave him a whap on the arm with the flat of her blade. The blow stung, but Jon smiled like an idiot. “I know which end to use,” Arya said.</p><p>He found himself thinking of his mother, and the story she had told him of donning the armor of the Knight of the Laughing Tree and unhorsing three men in the tilts. He was only a boy then, and could not believe his own mother capable of such a thing; to him, her life seemed somehow to begin with his birth and to ponder what she may have been like before gave him a strange feeling. He had innocently asked his father about it, disbelieving her, and heard the other half of the story; how the king ordered him to seek out the knight to unmask him, but instead he found the truth of the mystery challenger. A year later, his parents ran away together and a year after, Jon himself was born. It had thrilled him to hear it when he was too young to understand what it meant, but thinking of it now left a sour taste in his mouth.</p><p>Arya would never be so easily tempted. And if she ever donned armor, it would not be to ride in some tourney to a prince’s pleasure. It would be with a sword in her hand, and she would know what that meant.</p><p>A doubtful look crossed her face. “They will take it away from me. Septa Mordane, or my father or mother. Or Robb.”</p><p>Until now, Robb had always found Arya’s misadventures endearing. But on the Neck, he had been angrier than Jon had ever seen him. It had scared Arya to tears to see her brother turn for a moment into perhaps the man he would be once he was lord, someone fierce and harsh. He’d called her a willful, mad girl and did not speak to her for a week after.</p><p>If he found her with the sword, what would he say? For once, Jon could not imagine his cousin's reaction.</p><p>“Not if they don’t know you have it,” Jon said.</p><p>“I’ll practice with Bran,” She said, “I’ll make him.”</p><p>“Aye, perhaps you can let him in on your secret.” He was a sweet boy, and for all his dreams of knighthood he would search out practice where he could find it, even against his older sister. Jon sighed, “I will miss you, cousin.”</p><p>Suddenly she looked like she was going to cry. But she did not let herself. “I wish you were not going.”</p><p>“Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle. Who knows?” He tried to smile. “I better go. I have to find my mother.”</p><p>When he turned back at the door, she was holding the sword again, trying it for balance. “I almost forgot,” he told her. “All the best swords have named.”</p><p>“Like Ice,” she said. She looked at the blade in her hand. “Does this have a name? Oh, tell me.”</p><p>“Arya seemed puzzled at first. Then it came to her. She was that quick. They said it together:</p><p>“Needle!”</p><p>The memory of her laughter would warm him all the way to the Wall.</p><p>The next job ahead of him was not nearly so easy.</p><p>He let Ghost out in the yard, and made his way to the Great Hall, slipping in behind some servants with freshly cut wood with the fire. It was custom for a lord to feast his household for a month following a wedding and the benches were filled with food and drink and men and women. Jon was surprised to see his mother at the high table, sitting at Uncle Ned’s right hand. He lingered near the doors, indecisive, and finally settled on a seat among some Ryswell squires.</p><p>Robb and his bride sat side by side, and though both chattered amiably with those around them, Jon had come to see his aunt’s true smiles when she was in the company of the king, and know the difference to those she wore in Winterfell. It was trick that all princesses and princes learned, and which through years of practice Jon was able to spot.</p><p>Though Bran and Rickon joined the others at the high table, Sansa was seated among the Karstark brothers and the oldest of them was intently listening to what she had to say, his ear bent to her. No betrothal had been announced, but Lord Stark had been invited to the high table today and it would only be a matter of time. Sansa had never dreamed of Karhold. It was Highgarden and King’s Landing and Lannisport that held sway for her. And instead she would be going even further North. <em>None of them would have the fate they thought they deserved. </em></p><p>At the foot of the hall, the doors opened again. Alebelly led two new guests into the feast. “The Lady Meera of House Reed,” the rotund guardsman bellowed over the clamor. “With her brother, Jojen, of Greywater Watch.”</p><p>Men looked up from their cups and trenchers to eye the newcomers.</p><p>The girl was his age, with a net hanging from one hip and a long bronze knife from another; under her arm she carried an old iron great helm spotted with rust; a frog spear and round leathern shield were strapped to her back. The boy bore no weapons, though his garb was all green. <em>Crannogmen. </em>It explained why his mother was at the high table; to greet the children of her old friend.</p><p>“My lords of Stark,” Lady Meera said. “The years have passed in their hundreds and their thousands since my folk first swore their fealty to the King in the North. My lord father has sent us here to say the words again, for all our people.”</p><p>“You and yours are forever welcome in these halls, my lady,” Uncle Ned replied.</p><p>“To Winterfell we pledge the faith of Greywater,” the Reeds said together., “Hearth and heart and harvest we yield up to you, my lord. Our swords and spears and arrows are yours to command. Grant mercy to our weak, help to our helpless, and justice to all, and we shall never fail you.”</p><p>“I swear it by earth and water,” said the boy in green.</p><p>“I swear it by bronze and iron,” his sister said.</p><p>“We swear it by ice and fire,” they finished together.</p><p>“Rise,” Uncle Ned replied.</p><p>Lady Meera got to her feet and helped her brother up.</p><p>“We bring you gifts of fish and frog and fowl,” he said.</p><p><em>Arya will like these Reeds</em>, Jon thought. He could see his cousin smiling, with a frog leg in her mouth.</p><p>“I thank you.” Uncle Ned said, “I offer you the meat and mead of Winterfell.”</p><p>Serving men hurried to lengthen the table on the dais for the Reeds, fetching trestles and chairs. Jon heard no more from where he sat.</p><p>He ate, and waited and when his mother finally came to find him, she said simply, “let us ride.”</p><p>They went to the stables in silence, mounted their horses and rose past the gatehouse, over the drawbridge, and through the outer walls, Ghost running beside them.</p><p>Further back came four guardsmen. Beyond the castle was the market square once again, though no one came out to greet them today. Side by side, the cold wind whipping at their faces and hair, they urged their mounts off the kingsroad and into the wolfswood.</p><p>The guards fell back and Jon and his mother, rode on slowly, away from their ears.</p><p>He felt like a boy, awaiting his punishment.</p><p>“I should have sold that dragon egg years ago,” She said, quietly, almost to herself. “We could live in comfort in one of the Free Cities for the rest of our lives with that money.”</p><p>“I gave it back to my father,” Jon said, and knew he sounded stupid as he did. His father had wished for him to sleep with it always, but Jon could not remember ever having done so; his mother had removed it and it sat at the bottom of an ironwood chest until Jon finally returned it to the king. What use would it be to him, at the Wall? It was naught but an old stone to him, and not worth dying over at the hand of some desperate black brother. “My place is here, not in Essos.”</p><p>His mother frowned. “I prayed in the godswood all night for the Old Gods to give me the words to say to you now and steer you away from this madness, but I am at a loss. This path you are starting on… you will regret it when it is too late to turn back. But it is not too late now. Stay in Winterfell, as Ned has offered.” Her voice regained its edge now, but it was not anger which tempered it but desperation. “I will speak to Rhaegar, if it is him you fear. He would do this for me, if I asked him.”</p><p>“Do what?”</p><p>“He will forget whatever promises you made him.” She pulled back the reins of her horse now and stilled to face him.</p><p>Jon could hardly face his mother. He had made promises, and it shamed him to think of them now. <em>I promise I will be brave</em>. <em>I promise I will be strong</em>. <em>I promise I will play my part. </em>What had compelled him?</p><p>When he was away from his father, it felt like a jape at best, and madness at worst. He could not remember a time when he did not know the stories. <em>The song of ice and fire. The three-headed dragon. </em>His father filled his head with them and his mother prohibited talk of it. She did not have to; the stories frightened Jon as a boy. He did not want to think of doom or destiny, and dragons had held no sway over his imagination. As a man, he had come to understand the blood price that had been paid for his birth. Ned Stark may have protected his children from the full truth of it, but Lyanna had not done the same; Jon knew of how Rickard Stark had burned alive in his own armor, as his son suffocated trying to reach for his sword. <em>Done at the behest of my grandfather</em>. That had been a hard thing to live with. Even Robb had not known that. He had thought them beheaded and began to doubt it, and asked Jon for the truth.  </p><p>There were others too, hundreds dead, not by Jon’s hand but for his birth. There were battles fought and banners raised before his father and mother finally emerged from Dorne, and put an end to it. And it had all been for naught. He was not the princess his father expected, and his mother could not bear another child and survive it.</p><p>When Jon was his father, some part of him believed the tales, or wanted to. It was like a spell the king put him under, which had him believing things he knew to be false, making promises to a man to who he owed nothing.</p><p>“I wish to go,” Jon said instead. “Uncle Ben was only a boy when he took his vows. I am four years older than he was then. I have been trained by the finest knights in Westeros and I understand what it means.”</p><p>“Benjen took his vows in grief and guilt,” His mother responded. Her hands squeezed white around the reins. “And because he had neither mother nor father to forbid him. You are not your uncle.”</p><p>“Aye,” Jon replied. “I have better reasons than he did.”</p><p>“You do?” She asked, with false incredulity.</p><p>“I am baseborn,” His mother at least did not flinch when he said it, the way Uncle Ned did. She looked at him, with her grey eyes. “I will never hold lands nor wear a crown. Any legitimate child of mine would forever be in danger. And to live unwed with a woman, and bear a bastard by her… I would rather die. You all speak to me like I am ignorant of what my choice means. I have <em>nothing</em> to sacrifice. I am giving up <em>nothing</em>.”</p><p>He did not want to shame himself by weeping, but his face had grown warm, and his words caught in his throat.</p><p>“Nothing? Do you think so little of what I have given you?” She asked. Lyanna was not angry. She was only sad. Somehow, that made it worse. “And because of that you will give your life to chase after some fantasy of a hero standing at world’s end?”</p><p>She had given him many things. She had given him courage and love. He could not deny that, even in his most difficult moments. Jon had not seen her temper until he was a man and even then, it was rarely directed at him; as a boy, she was all tenderness and care and safety. But of all that she had given him, none had he paid a dearer price for than his birth. He might have said that to her, years ago, when the injustice and shame of it was still raw in him. That anger had shed its skin and became a thing transformed, and for a time he had nursed some spite towards his father, for not legitimizing him when he could. It did not matter now. He would carry the stain of it with him forever.</p><p>“I go because I have no other choice,” He said, finally. It felt ugly to say it, like exposing an unhealed wound. For all his talk of honor and duty, it was no true choice. The place on the Kingsguard left behind by Prince Lewyn Martell’s death would be filled by young Loras Tyrell, Jon had known that all along. Oldtown had been his father’s wish, not his own. He did not have the mind for it, nor the nature. To give counsel to some lord, to birth and teach his children and to swear to him an oath of allegiance… it was not something he could bear. Better to be a brother among many on the Wall, than a servant to any. “I go for your sake and for mine.” And for that of his father and Aegon too. He did love them, no matter how barbed that felt at times. “Please, mother. Kiss me and give me your blessing. Tell me you will write to me. I will write to you, always. And I will come to Winterfell, for Sansa’s wedding or the births of Robb’s sons, and we will see each other then.”</p><p>He was begging, he realized. “At least let us part without anger. Please.” <em>Please. Please. Please.</em></p><p>His mother was silent, staring ahead into the forest, her jaw moving, clenching and unclenching, trying to hold the words in, or perhaps say them out.</p><p>“I cannot,” She said finally, and when she set her eyes on him they were stern and cold. “Depart, if you wish, but you so without my blessing.”</p><p>Jon wanted to weep. He wanted to leave, now, ride away with Ghost and go… where? There was nowhere for him. Only the Wall.</p><p>“If that is how it will be, so be it,” He made himself say.</p><p>“So be it.”</p><p>--</p><p>Saying goodbye was the hardest thing Jon had ever done. With each word, he could not help but wonder if they would be the last words exchanged between them. His cousins embraced him, and extracted promises that he would attend the next harvest feast. Lady Catelyn told him she would pray for him, and though Uncle Ned seemed sad, he did not plea for him to stay behind.</p><p>His mother did not come out of the keep. Jon tried to swallow that hurt.</p><p>And they rode.</p><p>Jon had never been farther north than Winterfell. It was colder here somehow, and quieter than any other place he had bene.</p><p>West of the road were flint hills, grey and rugged, with tall watchtowers on their stony summits. To the east the land was lower, the ground flattening to a rolling plain that stretched away as far as the eye could see. Stone bridges spanned swift, narrow rivers, while small farms spread in rings around holdfasts walled in wood and stone. The road was well trafficked, and at night for their comfort there were rude inns to be found.</p><p>Three days ride from Winterfell, however, the farmland gave way to dense wood, and the kingsroad grew lonely. The flint hills rose higher and wilder with each passing mile, until by the fifth day they had turned into mountains, cold blue-grey giants with jagged promontories and snow on their shoulders. When the wind blew from the north, long plumes of ice crystals flew from the high peaks like banners.</p><p>With the mountains a wall to the west, the road veered north by northeast through the wolfswood, though no part Jon had ever hunted in before. Their nights came alive with the howls of distant packs, and some not so distant. Ghost pricked up his ears at the nightly howling, but never raised his own voice in reply. Grey Wind yelped and would make as though to chase after them, but would sit in silence with a single word from Robb.</p><p>There were 30 in the party by then. Ser Arthur travelled with fifteen of the king’s knights who would be taking their vows alongside Jon. Robb had brought ten guards of his own from Winterfell for the princess’ comfort, and Uncle Benjen rode with fresh mounts for the Night’s Watch, and a cage of ravens from Maester Luwin.</p><p>At the edge of the wolfswood, they stayed a night behind the wooden walls of a forest holdfast and there were joined by Yoren. The black brother had a twisted shoulder and a sour smell, his hair and bear matted and greasy and full of lice, his clothing old, patched, and seldom washed. He brought with him a pair of ragged boys and when he explained that they were rapers, the princess’ eyes had widened. She did not have to protest; Robb must have spoken for her, for when Jon rose in the morning Yoren and the two peasants were gone, sent along on the road with three of the Winterfell guard.</p><p>Jon was grateful for it. He did not wish to stay long in their company either.</p><p>Farms and holdfasts grew scarcer and smaller as they pressed northward finally there were no more roofs to shelter under. The nights were well below freezing now, and though Jon had known it would be cold, had read a hundred masters’ accounts of winter at his father’s behest, it was another thing to try to live it now.</p><p>Robb did his best to feign that it did not bother him. He often pulled down the scarf covering his face to ask Uncle Ben questions of the road and the places they passed, his breath like steam. Daenerys was mostly silent. If she cursed Jon for being the cause of her misery, he would not have been able to hear her under all the furs she wore. She did not seem angry at her husband, at least. By day, when they were not riding, she sat wordlessly at Robb’s side. By night, when the wind was not too strong, it carried the faint sounds of their lovemaking. He shared shelter with Benjen, but if his uncle heard it too he gave no signs. On those nights, Jon slept with his cloak wrapped over his head.</p><p>When he finally heard his aunt speak, the sound of her voice nearly startled him.</p><p>Robb was still abed, and the princess sat around the fire at dawn, sharing a meager breakfast of heated oats with Ser Arthur. If the Dornishman suffered in the cold, he did not show it. Jon grabbed a bowl and sat beside them. His aunt was as a stranger to him but he was not as uneasy in her company as he had been when they first met. She was kind to his cousins, from what little he saw and Robb had taken to calling her <em>my wife</em>, though Jon suspected that was more a matter of wanting to seem as a man grown and wed than a term of endearment. Jon, at least, could give her courtesy.</p><p>The knight and the princess had been speaking before his arrival, and continued the conversation after the exchange of some pleasantries.</p><p>“I will not ride with you to Winterfell, your grace,” Ser Arthur said. “My journey will take me to Eastwatch by-the-Sea, and onwards by ship to King’s Landing. Is there some message you would like me to deliver to the king?”</p><p>Daenerys pulled down her face covering, and Jon saw her cheeks were red. Though they were not more than a year apart in age, suddenly she seemed so young. “I am trying my best. You may tell him that.”</p><p>“If I may speak plainly, you have done well,” Ser Arthur said. “And so I shall tell his grace.”</p><p>Jon wondered idly what she had accomplished in her time in Winterfell that was worthy of such praise.</p><p>“When I was a girl, Viserys taught me a riddle.” Her voice was strange, as though it fought with the air to get the words out. “ Who listens to everything yet hears nothing?”</p><p>“A knight of the Kingsguard,” Ser Arthur was solemn.</p><p>The princess covered her face once more, as though to make a barrier between what her words and the way they would sit in the world. “My mother.” She let the word sit for a moment. “You would have known her only as an older woman, perhaps. Even still…” Every word seemed like it pained her to say. “Was she happy in her marriage? In the end, it was difficult… But were there moments, at least, when she smiled true?”</p><p>Ser Arthur’s expression betrayed nothing.</p><p>“It is not for me to say,” He replied. “Forgive me, but I cannot speak of it.”</p><p>“At the King’s command?”</p><p>Ser Arthur frowned, “No, your grace. Not at his command.”</p><p>“But if they did not love each other, why did they wed? Aegon was king then, and he was not fond of the custom of siblings wedding one another.”</p><p>Ser Arthur would not respond to that either. It was his way. Jon had spent half a year with him in Dorne and so he had been there.</p><p>“King Jaehaerys commanded it,” Jon found himself saying. He had known the story since he was a boy. The princess’ ignorance surprised him. “A woods witch told him that the prince that was promised would be born from their line.”</p><p>Daenerys’ turned to face him, and her voice was all confusion. “A woods witch?”</p><p>“Yes, a friend to Jenny of Oldstones. She died in Summerhall,” He replied. Jon knew all of this and more. How did she not?</p><p>Robb’s voice came from across the camp, and Daenerys fell quiet once more.</p><p>They rode on for another week longer and caught sight of the Wall when they still miles away. It was a pale blue line across the northern horizon, stretching away to the east and west and vanishing in the far distance, immense and unbroken. They had come, finally, to the end of the world.</p><p>For a century at least, the Watch had been a shadow of what it once was. His father had tried to change that, and every victory he wrung out was dearly won. <em>To Southron lords, the Wall is nothing</em>, the king had explained, <em>they do not understand</em>. They sent the Wall their worse, rapers and thieves and murderers, and his father had tried to pick off lord’s sons, as much as he could, third or fourth born with nothing to inherit. He had raised his own soldiers too, taking boys from orphanages and poor houses. The Watch had built nineteen great strongholds along the Wall, and half were occupied. His father said it was not enough.</p><p>Another two days and they spied Castle Black, its timbered keeps and stone towers looking like nothing more than a handful of toy blocks scattered on the snow, beneath the vast wall of ice. The ancient stronghold of the black brothers was no Winterfell, no true castle at all. Lacking walls, it could not be defended, not from the south, or east, or west; but it was only the north that concerned the night’s Watch, and to the north loomed the Wall. Almost seven hundred feet high it stood, three times the height of the tallest tower in the stronghold it sheltered. </p><p>It was like nothing else in the world. Jon could feel the great weight of all that ice pressing down on him, as if it were about to topple, and somehow he knew that if it fell, the world fell with it.</p><p>There would be no warm welcome for him. Their company parted once they were within Castle Black – Jon with Uncle Ben and the knights who would take their vows alongside him, and Robb and the Princess Daenerys with Ser Arthur and their guard. Robb would sleep in the King’s Tower, and dine at the Lord Commander’s own table. And Jon… he would be given a cold bed in a small room, alongside hundreds of men like him, scraped together from the unwanted places.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>•	As always, thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and engage with my writing! It is incredibly motivating to read your comments and learn which parts of the story are resonating for you, and I really appreciate your time reading and engaging with the story.<br/>•	Finally, a Jon POV. This is one that I was very hesitant to introduce, but I don’t think we can do without it. We will not get to see many of these but the Wall and what’s beyond it play a big part in this story – as well as the various visitors it will receive, which we’ll see through Jon. Also, I want to clarify that Jon's reflections of his parents and their relationship is just that - his perspective. As their son, he was exposed to a very particular part of their history and dynamic, and kept in the dark about other things. Similarly, we see this in his reflections on Aegon. These are very much his interpretations, coming from a place of deep pain.<br/>•	I didn’t want to reinvent the wheel in this chapter with classic scenes, like Jon giving Arya Needle, the Reeds’ oath, and descriptions of the journey to the Wall so many of those parts are from the books. While the chapter is central to Jon's character, we are seeing things come into place for others, such as Bran and - in a very different way - Dany coming up. And even though we're taking a break from Winterfell, it's not the last we'll see of Lyanna.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For those who remember the original fic I wrote, I am going to simplify it because I was overambitious with the plot the first time around. I got really bogged down in the politics and it made me give up. I'm still figuring it out but I enjoyed writing it the first time around, and need a bit of happiness right now. I hope it brings a little bit of joy to anyone who read it the first time around and wondered why it disappeared.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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